Rumors of Death - Man Out of Time
by Stryder2008
Summary: Ripped open by a Hellhound and dragged to the rack to pay for the return of Sam's soul, Dean is offered a choice, say 'yes' to Alistair in Hell, or say 'yes' to Michael in Heaven. To save his brother, Dean decides to burn the rulebook. Now Heaven & Hell are hunting both Winchesters and Dean has become something-more...but what will Sam do to save his brother? NOT SLASH, Rated: T/MA
1. Man Out of Time

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 1 –** _Man Out of Time_

 _~October 2008~_

Crisp night air that should have smelled of earth and the woodsy scent of pine reeked only of death with slight overtones of the decay of flesh. The nice autumn evening was completely destroyed by the stench. But really, was that so unusual for a cemetery, or to be more specific, cemetery adjacent?

Over the years it had become a familiar smell, one that meant a job well done. _Or run like Hell because something was chasing you intent on your death!_ But it also meant the completion of a case or a soul laid to rest leaving it in peace, however one chose to look at it. And yet the young lanky man staring down at a freshly covered grave, appeared to have no peace at all. His broad shoulders seemed to bow heavily under the weight of his apparent loss.

Cemeteries had become almost a second home throughout his short life. But at this moment, staring down at the freshly disturbed earth he could find no peace in it because he knew that the soul he'd just buried would find nothing but bitter pain on the other side of the veil. It made him physically ill just thinking about it and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to walk away.

Sam Winchester couldn't tear his gaze from the fresh grave marked with a single handmade wooden cross. It was the final resting place for the last remaining member of his family and the only one that had placed Sam's future ahead of their own. The young man had been so deluded that he'd honestly thought that he could save his brother; the same way Dean had saved him. But in the end, Sam had been helpless to change a destiny he wanted no part in. He'd been forced to watch as a Hellhound had ripped open Dean's chest like a Christmas present. He shuddered at the horrific images that thought evoked and his heart clenched painfully inside his own chest.

A small part of him wondered if this was the devastation that Dean had felt when he'd been unable to save Sam from the yellow-eyed demon. If it was, then Sam could understand his brother's decision to trade his own soul to bring his only family member back. Because at this moment if a crossroads demon had offered him a deal, Sam would have jumped on it like a starving man at a Vegas Buffett. His eyes burned as the tears welled beneath his closed eyelids.

A tear dripped off the end of his nose as he threw the last of the moist earth onto the lonely grave.

Staring down at the grave Sam was forced to admit that return of his brother had life torn apart the life he'd been building and over the last three years he'd lost the love of his life, buried his father, and watched his brother spiral out of control. But none of those losses could compare with the soul-wrenching pain of throwing a handful of fucking dirt across Dean's cold, lonely grave. His brother deserved more than this; he deserved what Sam couldn't give him, a life.

When Dean had died Sam had folded in on himself. He'd sent Bobby away in an attempt to come to terms with this latest death, but no amount of time spent with the eviscerated body of his older brother had prepared him for the reality he now faced; he was alone.

Digging _this_ grave before covering Dean's physical body with rock and dirt amid empty acrid silence had broken something inside him. It was here in this field of blood that Sam finally understood why his brother had risked his immortal soul to save him, because Dean couldn't live with Sam dead. He gulped down the rising emotions before they choked him and he joined his brother. Biting at his lower lip, the same way he had in that godforsaken house as he'd wrapped his arms around the bloody corpse of his older brother, he allowed the full breadth of his emotions to sink into his gut. And now as he stared at that fucking grave he finally understood what it was to be alone, to _truly_ be alone, and it hurt in ways he couldn't quantify.

If this were how Dean had felt, as he'd down at Sam's own corpse he couldn't begrudge the choice his brother had made as a result. Because it had been a choice made while in the thralls of overwhelming grief and it had caused Dean to trade his own soul in order to bring his brother's back.

Glancing up, he heaved a heavy sigh, ignoring the way his chest ached as he allowed his gaze to drift around the small clearing of trees. It was peaceful, quiet, everything that Dean had never had during his hunter's life. A slow smile tainted with pain worked across Sam's lips when he thought of Dean's likely reaction to his final resting place. His snarky older brother would have _hated_ it, hell the guy had hated all forms of silence, always had. But Sam had wanted a place away from people or the creepy crawlies that might think it _funny_ to desecrate the body of a Winchester. So he was left with this clearing in Indiana where no one would ever know the small cross-marked the grave of Dean Winchester.

This desire for silence was one of a million ways they were different, he and Dean. All Sam had ever wanted was a normal life. One that included a white picket fence, maybe a dog in some nice quiet neighborhood where everyone celebrated the 4th of July with barbeques and beer. The reality of his holidays sent another pang of regret surging through him because he'd never hear his brother singing to patriotic songs in an off-key way again.

 _Oh God Dean, this hurts too much._ He wrapped his arms around his stomach like he was desperately trying to hold himself together. _I don't think I can do it alone._

An image of Dean leaning against the Impala, a cold beer in one hand and a sparkler in the other, sent an avalanche of emotions crashing down on him. Sam stumbled under the weight of his losses and landed hard on his knees as unrelenting waves of anger mixed with regret washed through him. He didn't know how long he knelt before his brother's grave, tears streaming down his face, shoulders shaking uncontrollably, but his eyes were gritty and sore before he was again aware of the passage of time.

 _Oh God…Dean I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough to save you. I should have been. You would have been. I swear I won't give up not until l find a way to save you._ He sent that promise out into the ethos, routing it inside his very soul. But this was something that he would have to do alone. As much as he didn't want to be alone, Sam wasn't willing to involve anyone else he loved, so he'd severed contact with Bobby.

The bitch demon Ruby had been trying like a freaking maniac to get Sam's attention. So far he'd been able to avoid her repeated attempts to get some face-time with him, but that wouldn't last. However, Sam wouldn't risk the only person left on earth that had known Dean as well as he had. So the old hunter was out as far as Sam was concerned. Bobby had been as close to them as their father had been distant; losing the old man would shatter what little was left of Sam.

The only way he could honor his brother's sacrifice was to do what Dean would have done and there was no way that the elder Winchester would've talked to a demon. _At least not one that wasn't able to make a deal._ The thought burst into his head and he shook at the memory of his brother's _deal._

But if Sam saw that black-eyed bitch right now he was fairly certain he'd kill her outright. It didn't matter if Ruby had been in on Lilith's plans or not. She'd known about Dean's deal and she'd kept that from him. It didn't matter if she'd known what would ultimately happen to Dean; Sam wasn't ready to allow a demon into his life, not after everything those lying bastards had done to his family. But at this moment, revenge was the last thing on his mind.

Once he figured out how to live without Dean maybe then he could think about revenge, but not right now.

Sam knew what was coming, he wasn't a fucking idiot; it was only a matter of time until the inconsolable rage and the all-consuming need to make every damned demon pay for his brother's death, took over his rational thought. But this wasn't the time for that, not yet.

With an effort the felt herculean in nature, he hauled his lanky body up before turning toward the waiting Impala, the sight of the sleek black car shining in the moonlight choked off his air as pain hurdled through him.

The expected emotions at seeing his brother's beloved car pummeled at his self-control and he moaned in response. Taking a deep breath, he allowed the woodsy scent to mix with the smell of death and it created an odd mixture that was more comforting than disturbing. Wrenching back control of his wayward emotions, Sam stalked toward the car before pulling the backdoor open and removing his brother's pearl-handled 1911 Taurus. With shaky deliberate steps, he turned back toward Dean's small grave as his vision blurred, again.

It was done in moments, burying something that felt like an extension of his big brother was almost as difficult as burying Dean, and he wanted to sob. His eyes burned, but he no longer had any tears left to shed. He turned back toward the car and slowly closed the distance while at the same time increasing the distance between himself and Dean's body. The moment his fingers closed around the cold steel of the handle, the one on the driver's side, he felt disgustingly, disturbingly wrong. Because sinking into the leather after sliding into the seat, that his brother almost exclusively occupied for the majority of their lives, felt like a betrayal on the deepest level.

XXXX

 _~Exactly Two Years Later~_

Sam pulled off the narrow two-lane road near the edges of what had once been an empty lonely field in the middle of nowhere USA. He stared up at the houses that surrounded the grove of trees at the exact place where he'd buried his only remaining family. Fear rocketed through him at the realization that they could have dug up Dean's grave and not even known until the coffin tumbled out onto the soil.

But as he stared at the final resting place of his order brother he breathed a sigh of relief as he noticed that the grove hadn't been disturbed. The only thing that had changed was that there was now grass planted over the spot where Dean had been buried. Swallowing thickly he climbed out of the Impala and made his way into the park.

He couldn't count the months that it had taken for him to finally accept that he couldn't bring his brother back. He had tried everything. Talked to crossroads demons. Tried to barter with the Gjinn. Summoned the spirits of the dead in order to learn more about his brother's fate. But no dice, nothing had wanted to deal with a _Winchester._

For that reason he hadn't been back before now and his last hope of resurrecting Dean had been blown to smithereens seven weeks ago and now the only thing that he had left…was revenge. So he'd come to _talk_ to his brother and this was the place he felt closest to the person that had raised him.

The youngest Winchester had known what would happen once he slipped into the life he'd struggled to avoid. And he knew there would be nothing he could do about it once it happened. He would fight the things that go bump in the night, but he would do it completely alone. In fact he hadn't even talked to Bobby in more than a year.

The demon, Ruby had tried every play in the _demon handbook_ to get his attention. She'd even gone so far as to possess a woman that looked distressingly similar to Jessica. _That_ little stunt had nearly landed the Kurdish demon-blade directly in her black heart.

Sam had spent months researching every version of a demon deal, desperately searching for something that would give him an advantage over the twisted demons. He'd held out hope of finding anything that might offer him some _way_ of saving Dean's soul. But no matter where he looked or which rituals he tried, he'd had no luck, and it killed him a little more each day.

At this point, Dean probably wouldn't even recognize the man Sam had become in his single-minded pursuit of breaking his brother out of Hell. Sam had made his brother a promise…a silent promise on the day he'd buried him.

He'd promised that he would return to this grave before doing anything monumentally stupid and Sam was on the verge of doing something so incredibly _stupid_ that he knew he had to return. He could not break the promise he'd sworn at Dean's graveside, not for anything in the entire world.

The problem with learning some of the darker lores was that he was made aware of what was really being done to his brother in the fiery pits of Hell. Sam had been very careful not to ask about Hell. He'd known that he couldn't handle that kind of truth; not after watching his brother being ripped open, Dean's blood had still stained his hands as he'd thrown dirt onto the grave.

But as it turned out, reading about something doesn't hold a candle to seeing it in live action and vivid Technicolor in his dreams.

In Sam's misguided attempts to save Dean, he'd invoked some really nasty spells, the first one had left an indelible impression that he couldn't turn off or control. Initially he'd thought that the dreams were his own subconscious seeking absolution by forcing him to witness what he _thought_ might be happening in Hell.

The dreams had started that first night following the spell. Sam finally gotten a cheap motel room and too exhausted and emotionally eviscerated to go on, he'd sought the abyss of sleep. Ha-ha, the joke had been on him. There was no abyss dark enough for a Winchester.

He hadn't yet buried his brother's body and he couldn't leave Dean in the Impala all night, so Sam had brought him into the motel. With shaking hands he'd taken great care to clean the blood from Dean's clothing before washing it from his brother's body. Then he'd painstakingly sewn the ragged flesh together before hauling the flowered comforter over the cold body of his brother. As he'd sat there staring at the unmoving body, he'd completely lost his fucking mind. Sam had pulled out a spell that he'd discovered weeks ago, one that was supposed to swap his and Dean's souls. Turns out witches can't be trusted. Bitch hadn't given him a swap-meat spell; she'd given him a linking-spell. It had permanently linked Sam's subconscious mind with Dean's.

While it was blurry at first and the spell took some time to fully connect them, eventually Sam saw everything, he knew the pain and the suffering his brother was going through and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. After that he'd drank himself into a stupor to try and avoid the dream-state. Sometimes it actually worked.

Turned out Sam had never realized just how much he loved his big brother, not until he'd lost him. The night he'd started dreaming of Dean, dreaming of the sheer Hell that his brother was being subjected to, well, it had been worse than anything Hell could've done to _him_.

At first Sam hadn't remembered the specifics of the dreams. But oh dear Gods the time came when he remembered every detail and he was pretty sure that his mind fractured a bit with the realization.

Sam had been forced to watch as every horror movie that Dean had loved got the experience in Hell totally and perfectly _wrong_.

The one exception was Hellraiser. That fucking flick must have been written by a demon because it had actually gotten everything right. The reality of that had nearly sent Sam over the proverbial edge. Because torturing a soul was so much more than just indescribable pain, and _holy-mother-of God_ was there was plenty of that, it was tearing down everything that made the soul _human_ in the first place. No, truly destroying the human soul was about ripping away the essence of what made it human, it was about shattering what made Dean, _Dean_.

Over the last two years Sam had been forced to bear witness to his brother's utter destruction. But none of it happened in real-time because, apparently, time was different in Hell. Every single thing he was forced to witness had already happened and there wasn't a fucking thing that Sam could do to change it.

He'd watched with a sinking heart as the humanity had slowly drained away with every drop of blood that splattered beneath the rack. Sam had seen the changes in Dean with every strip of flesh that was repeatedly torn from the bones of the one person that did not deserve it. That very first morning, the one after the spell, Sam had stumbled from his bed, barely making it to the small bathroom, before he'd thrown up everything he'd eaten for the last week and that hadn't been much. He'd retched until there was nothing left but the bile burning the insides of his throat, and still he couldn't stop the violent tremors inside his body.

The second month was more of the same, but it was on the seventh month that he'd been truly terrified. When a white-eyed demon, he still hadn't caught the son of a bitches name, came waltzing up to the rack wearing an exact replica of _Sam's face_. Sam had been forced to watch as what little fight Dean had had left was crushed the moment he'd laid the blade against his brother's skin. The will to fight had drained away the same way his brother's blood had gushed from the wounds _not-Sam_ inflicted. Over and over again. Because that was the exact moment when Sam knew they'd found the key to breaking his brother. It wasn't the pain or torture of the past months; it was when the blade had been wielded by the youngest Winchester's doppelganger that there had been no hope for the broken soul strapped to the iron rack.

For the firs time Sam wasn't sure what version of his brother he'd get back, even if he succeeded; which he hadn't.

TBC…

 **Author's Note** : _This is a complete rewrite of a previously posted story (which is no longer available). I wanted to take this idea and turn it on its head with some of the things that have happened since it was originally written (in 2013). A lot has happened in the last 5 years and I think I found a better story than the one I'd originally posted. There are elements of that story throughout this one, but it is an entirely new spin. The good news is that the bulk of the writing is done and I'll be posting a new chapter every Wednesday and Sunday (or sooner if I have time)._

 _ **Here's snippet from the next Chapter**_ _:_

"He isn't in here, Sam Winchester."

A deep voice commented, interrupting the introspection that had been happening inside his head. Sam scrambled up to his feet, spinning around as he simultaneously pulled his Colt 1911 from the back of his jeans. The shiny barrel rose instinctively as Sam aimed in the direction of the voice.

A man that he'd never even heard move was standing less than ten feet from him."

End snippet-

 **Please let me know if you're interested in reading the re-written version of this.**


	2. The Prices We Each Must Pay

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 2** – _The Price We Each Pay_

 _~HELL~_

 _The rack in Hell wasn't some trite thing that was dreamed up in the overly imaginative minds of Hollywood. Oh no, it was something that couldn't possibly be explained until it's been experienced and a person has been strapped down and stripped of everything that makes them 'human'. No one understood that better than the tragic soul currently nailed to the searing iron once the rack, a device that he had no hope of escaping. Because the more a soul struggled the worse the pain was amplified by the supernatural properties of Hell's 'rack'._

 _Just as bad as the torture device was the echoing screams of every damned soul that resided in the place of 'fire and brimstone'. Those agonized cries never stopped because there really was 'no rest for the wicked'._

 _The pleading cries were slowly eroding any pieces of humanity Dean Winchester might have had left._

 _Yet every time he thought he'd go mad from his own pain and the incessant wailing of everyone else, Sam's puppy-dog eyes would flash through his thoughts and stall his insanity. His brother's expressive, pleading 'eyes' would beg him to keep fighting, just a bit longer. And since when had Dean ever been able to deny Sammy anything? Never. Not once in his life had he been able to put his own welfare or desires ahead of those of his little brother. He sincerely hoped the day never came where that changed._

 _Sam had begged him to ignore the countless times his fingernails had been torn out of the fingernail beds, and disregard the first time the bastards had yanked the teeth from his head; only to have the damn things reappear the next day so the demons could do it all again. Every time he thought that it couldn't get worse he was proved just how little he'd known about true evil. And the torture just got worse the longer the demons_ played _with him. It wasn't often that they got such illustrious hunters into the fiery basement and they'd been planning his welcome party since he'd kissed away his own future in order to ensure Sam's._

 _Dean didn't know what it was about his little brother that seemed to force him to fight minute after minute and hour after hour, but every time he started to break that strength was there to boost him up. Maybe Dean couldn't stand the thought of failing Sammy yet again. He'd already lost his brother to the yellow-eyed demon once and Dean could not allow these sons-a-bitches to get their hands on his brother again. So he simply endured._

 _At first hell had been incredibly painful, torture was always painful that's why it was called 'torture', but he'd been able to tolerate it._

 _After all life was nothing if not painful and Dean had certainly had his share of that during his short time on earth. So if physical pain was all the demons had to throw at him, he was pretty sure he could hold out until Sammy figured out a way to yank his ass out of this particular fire._

 _But then something changed, his torturer changed and with that, so did the methods. It went from merely stripping the flesh from his bones during the days and healing him at night, to 'other' more unmentionable things. The things they'd done as they searched for a way to break his spirit were feelings and pains he would never be free of. Dean's soul had been scarred by his time in Hell and there were some hurts that ran so deep that they couldn't be fixed; or forgotten._

 _One of their worst bouts was when he'd spent the better part of fifty years being flogged by a whip that he'd never actually seen. He couldn't escape and he couldn't reason with the bearer. The flailing strips had never stopped raining down on his abused body, not during that whole time. Had he actually been 'alive' or had a flesh and blood body, he would have died from the sheer agony and blood loss. He hadn't though it could get worse after than, again he'd been wrong. Apparently it can always get worse._

 _And Dean discovered that he preferred that brand of punishment to what happened when the demons got truly 'creative'._

 _In order to break a soul, the will must first be shattered beyond any hope of repair. And with a man like Dean Winchester that had taken far more time and effort than the demons were used to. There had only ever been one other soul that had been impossible to break and it had also born the name 'Winchester'._

 _The demons had to come up with other, more imaginative ways to defile him and break down the mile-high barriers he'd spent a lifetime building. But they were nothing if not patient and diligent in their methods. Eventually everyone breaks._

 _When they'd stripped him down nothing but his broken naked body, the only item he'd managed to retain was the amulet Sam had given him for Christmas. For some reason the bastards were incapable of touching the small bronze idol. It burned the crap out of any that tried. In fact one demon had been so intent on taking it from Dean that he'd actually exploded in a ball of fire and disintegrated into nothingness. After that the demons had left the thing alone. Unfortunately that was the only thing they left alone. And the damn thing didn't do shit to protect him from their wrath when they realized they couldn't take it form him. All it had done was allow Dean to keep a tiny piece of his brother with him through everything they did._

 _In the end it hadn't been enough to protect him from their games and when they'd finally unlocked the key to destroying him Dean had been helpless to stop them. Not even that small token of his family's love was enough to keep his sanity in place as someone he was helpless against tortured him; he'd slipped over that edge into the abyss that was his own personal Hell._

~Now~

Because of his inability to let anything go, Sam had seen all of it. The only thing that had kept him from slitting his own wrists that first year was the fact that even in Hell his brother wore the small bronze amulet. That had comforted him in the knowledge that Dean at least had something of their brotherly affection with him.

The day he'd gotten it, the thing had seemed so damned important to Sam. It hadn't even been something he bought, Bobby had given it to him and he'd been sure it was the perfect gift for their "hunter" father. But after John had failed to put in an appearance for yet another Christmas, Sam had rethought the gift and offered it to his big brother. His brother had initially refused the gift and it had taken some convincing on Sam's part to get him to accept it for what it was.

It hadn't been a 'guilt' gift like Dean had assumed, it had been the only thing that Sam had had to give and he really had wanted his brother to have it. With all his child-like heart he'd wanted Dean to know how much he loved and appreciated him. It had seemed like such a small thing at the time, but his brother had worn the amulet every day after that so it obviously meant far more than Sam had initially thought.

He wasn't sure why the small token of brotherly affection had manifested itself in Hell along with Dean's soul, but it had and for that small gift the youngest Winchester was intensely grateful.

No matter the awful things that were continuously done to his big brother, that amulet seemed to tether Dean to the last remaining bits of his humanity. And those black-eyed bastards had done some truly unspeakable things. Bile flared inside him at the mere idea of what he'd unintentionally witnessed because of that spell. Through it all, his brother remained _Dean_.

And yet the soul can only take so much and there was no denying that Dean _was_ starting to change. He was becoming _colder_ , unfeeling and more accepting of the rack and all that it meant.

But it hadn't been until the _white-eyed_ demon had come wearing an exact replica of _Sam's face_ that the tether had _snapped_ , flinging Dean's soul into the darkness of oblivion. Though he'd searched for any lore on the hierarchy of demons and if their "eye color" signified anything important, he'd never found anything. That white-eyed bastard had done what no other demon had managed; he found the key to breaking Dean. And it wasn't pain.

It was a terribly cruel thing to watch someone you love shatter into pieces that you _knew_ could never be fully reassembled. It had been nearly a year and half and that was the night the spell fractured. Sam stopped dreaming of his brother and after that he had no idea what horrible nightmares his brother had been subjected to. In fact, Sam no longer dreamed at all. It was like someone had closed the shutter on a camera and now he only stared at the black space a picture used to be. But in place of the dreams came debilitating headaches.

He'd thought that the ones he'd had after he'd first gotten back into hunting with Dean had been bad. But nope. The joke had totally been on him because _holy-crap-on-toast_ had he been wrong! Those had been like love taps inside his skull compared to the complete and total incapacitation that came with these new and _improved_ brain-killers.

Why they had come back the night Dean's soul seemed to 'give up' was something that Sam was still trying to solve. But he'd seen enough that night to know that his brother would never be the same. Dean would probably never be able to look at Sam without seeing what that damn demon had turned him into.

Lifting tired bloodshot eyes he hauled in a long heavy breath hoping it would stabilize the frantic beating of his heart, it didn't. Reaching up he pinched at the bridge of his nose as he felt the start of another headache slice through his brain like a serrated knife. He tried to ignore the way the pain increased until his head wanted split open and dump his brains all over the grass. And then super fun fact about migraines, they always came with intense nausea.

Initially Sam had talked to the doctors about the headaches, but they hadn't been able to find anything wrong with him.

" _It's all in your head kid. Take some aspirin and a nap._ "

And yeah, that had _so_ _not_ been helpful. After that he'd refused to see any of those _quacks_ that labeled themselves "healers". The only thing he'd been able to do was get his hands on some premium prescription level narcotics and while that helped dull the pain to a merely nauseating level it didn't stop the headaches.

Sam had also learned another super-duper-fun-filled fact, he'd never hunted alone and he kinda sucked at watching his own back.

He couldn't remember a time when he'd been forced to do anything completely alone. After he'd left his father and Dean, he'd only been at Stanford for a week before meeting Jessica. Another pain of failure and regret speared his heart and he nearly groaned at the injustice of it all. He returned his thoughts to their previous track.

Hunting wasn't exactly the safest gig, so add that to that little factoid that his head and it was a recipe for death and dismemberment. A brain so muddled and fuzzy with the meds; yup, not a good thing when you're barely managing to survive the night.

So Sam didn't take the drugs unless the skull-cracking agony was so bad that it reduced him to a shuddering puddle of _Winchester._ He'd stopped counting the times he'd laid the floor of one of the many, and generally disgusting, cheap bathroom floors. Unfortunately by the time the pain got to that bad he had no choice but to take the drugs. It was either take the _illicit_ pills or lose days, sometimes weeks, to the mind-numbing agony.

The change in his health wasn't exactly something he could hide either. That was one of the reasons he hadn't gone to Bobby when the headaches got so back he just wanted to stick an icepick in his eye and end it all. Sam was thinner now than he'd ever been and there wasn't a lot he could do about it when the headaches kept him from keeping the food down. Insult to injury, he couldn't even keep chicken noodle soup down.

 _Okay so it's not 'chicken noodle' it's chicken and stars. Same difference though._ Contrary to popular belief not all sick people love chicken noodle soup. Sam didn't like the texture of the noodles. Dean had been the one to discover than when Sam had come down with his first official flu virus. His brother had struggled to get the six year old to eat much of anything and Sam could barely keep any of it down. So when Dean had discovered that his little brother hated the noodles, he'd decided to get creative and go for the "stars" instead. He'd told Sam a story that their mother had been the one to invent the soup and that it would keep him strong and healthy if he ate it.

But that story was for children and Sam knew better now, though he still craved chicken and stars soup when he was sick.

The headaches and nausea had been so bad one night that the motel owner had called the paramedics and they'd rushed Sam to the Emergency Room thinking he was having an aneurysm of some kind. He hadn't. But they'd kept him under observation for almost three weeks after that before he'd managed to slip their grasp and escape with the hospital staff in the dirty laundry. He had been watching the old version of "Annie" and the idea had occurred to him that if it had worked for a little redhead trying to escape the likes of _Ms. Hannigan_ , then it should work for him. Well, it _had_ worked but it also came with a truly smelly aftermath.

And just so there's no mistaking just how awful that idea had been, getting tossed out with dirty _hospital_ laundry was completely and utterly nasty. Blood had been the least of his worries as he'd tried to scrub the horrible fluids from his body.

Drawing his attention back to his task at hand, he drew in a shallow breath and crested the last hill, his eyes widening in shock as he did. The small wooded area hidden inside the thick grove of trees looked like a twister had set down and ripped everything apart.

All of the surrounding aspen trees had been flattened like a bulldozer had come through. Even the gentle grass had been pasted against the ground. Sam studied the site with a sinking heart as he realized that the trees had actually been blown _away_ from the center of his brother's gravesite. Swallowing a growing unease, Sam jogged the remaining distance before sinking heavily to his knees, as they turned rubbery beneath him.

Right where the small wooden-cross had been was a large gaping hole of nothing. That hole was the only thing at the epicenter of all the destruction.

 _Something_ had come after Dean's physical body, which was the only explanation for Sam was seeing. With that realization his heart thudded painfully inside his chest and his head pounded fiercely.

 _Jesus Dean, I'm so sorry. I didn't think anyone knew where you were buried._ He thought into the overwhelming silence.

A single tear slipped past his defenses and coursed down his cheek in a strange pattern that was created by the dense scruff on his chin. The tear splattered onto the flattened earth beneath him with his ever having noticed it. He sank to his knees as the weight of his loss nearly crushed him.

Rage flared inside him and his vision took on a thin red sheen as he continued to stare blankly at the empty gravesite. He'd lost so much already; didn't those bastards realize they'd already taken _everything_ from him? Hadn't those demonic sons-a-bitches done enough?

They'd stolen Sam's mother before he could walk, then they'd come after his father, and finally they'd bartered his big brother's soul away in a horse-trade. They'd ripped away, in the most violent act of aggression that he had ever witnessed, the only thing that mattered to Sam, and then they'd come after Dean's corporeal body, why? What was their angle?

"He isn't in here, Sam Winchester." A deep booming voice commented evenly.

It had interrupted the introspection that had been happening inside Sam's head. He scrambled to his feet before spinning around as he simultaneously pulled his Colt 1911 from the back of his jeans. The shiny silver barrel rose instinctively as Sam aimed in the direction of the _voice_.

A man that he'd never even heard move was now standing less than ten feet from his position.

 _Shit, I've got to pay better attention._

In a flash of irritation, Sam could hear his father's disapproving words at his lack of _situational awareness._ _'It doesn't matter what's going on, you have to_ know _what the hell is happening around you, Sam! Always.'_

John's words slammed into him like a hammer driving home the fact that Sam was truly alone. There was no one left to watch his back and that hurt on a level that he didn't want to examine too closely for fear of falling into that cavern of sorrow.

Shoving the vulnerable reactions down he leveled an emotionless stare at the man in the trench coat. The tan material billowed slightly in the light breeze and the guy looked like a freaking accountant. Decked out in a bright blue tie, a stark white shirt and trousers, he didn't look very imposing. But Sam had learned over the years not to judge an entity by what they chose to wear.

His gun dipped a little when his attention was drawn to the deep unnatural blue color of the man's eyes. That gaze felt like it was boring directly into his damaged soul and he didn't like it; not one little bit.

"Who the hell are you? And what are you doing here?" He hissed angrily as he re-aimed 'center mass'.

Tilting his dark head to the side, the man answered evenly, "I am not your enemy, Sam Winchester."

"How do you know who I am?!" Sam shot back in a low tight tone.

The guy raised a dark eyebrow, "I am an angel of the lord." He answered simply.

It was almost like he thought that just because he said he was an ' _angel of the lord'_ , that Sam should immediately trust him. Hiding his shock at the man's explanation, Sam shook his head 'no'. He'd had too many run-ins with the supernatural to trust anything that wasn't completely human, and he sure as hell didn't believe that this _guy_ was an angel.

"The fuck you say." He ground past clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing for a single moment of contemplation. "There's no such thing." A soft breeze in the field caught his too-long brown hair and sent it tumbling into his eyes.

The dark haired man shifted his gaze between Dean's crave and the young man glaring angrily at him. "And yet you believe in demons." The _Angel_ said simply.

Sam's eyebrows drew together in a silent affirmative, but he remained quiet.

"If you believe in demons, does it not stand to reason that there would also angels?" He stood stock still staring at Sam with so much intensity that the hair on the hunter's arms stood on end. This _thing_ radiated _power_. "My name is Castiel and I am an Angel of the Lord." The voice never changed pitch as the Angel blew open Sam's mind with his little revelation.

Castiel's voice never changed intonation, the way voices tend to when a person is lying, it stayed distressingly even tone. Which meant one of two things, this guy was off his rocker or he really believed that he was an _angel of the lord._ And Sam should know; he was far too accustomed to being the one lying to other people.

"Bullshit. I don't believe you. Now where the hell is my brother's body!" Sam hissed angrily.

The Angel sighed, "Dean Winchester is no longer your concern." Castiel answered quietly, he turned to start walking around the blown-out hole in the center of the clearing. He ignored the fact that the barrel of Sam's gun followed him as he reviewed the situation.

Sam couldn't think of a better answer than, "He's my family and the only thing I'm concerned about." He clicked the hammer back, casting his eyes toward the empty grave, "What do you know about this?"

The Angel pressed his lips together, narrowing his blue eyes at Sam. "Everything. I told you, I am angel."

"Sure. And I've got property in Arizona with a really spectacular ocean view. Sam's eyes flashed his surprise. "I don't know who the hell you are mister, but I don't think you're an Angel. Pretty sure you're a freak with a corpse fetish."

The dark head tilted to the side, "You do not believe me?"

Sam shook his head 'no'. Was this guy brain damaged or did he realize that Sam was the one with the gun and _he_ should be terrified.

With a nod the dark-haired man stepped back spreading his arms wide just as the entire skyline darkened, lightning flashed directly overhead. Before Sam could process what he was seeing, dark shadows of what looked like _wings_ spread out behind the man. They extended for several feet in either direction behind him. "I _am an_ angel of the lord." Castiel's voice shifted, dropped, and then thundered across the field.

Sam could feel the barely contained power vibrating through him as an Angel revealed himself to a human for the first time in a millennium.

The gun slipped from Sam's numb fingers as he dropped to his knees clasping his hands over his ears. And just like that, daylight returned and the power receded back inside the heavenly host.

Lifting confused eyes, "I don't understand." Sam whispered hoarsely. This was so much worse than he could have ever imagined. God, Angels, they were all real; and they had let Dean go to Hell.

"You are not meant to understand Sam . Not yet."

Sam's gaze flickered up meeting the Angel's brilliant blue gaze as confusion nearly poured out of his blue-green eyes. "What?" He stammered.

"We need your help, Sam Winchester. That is the only reason I am revealing myself to you."

Pressing his lips together as anger replaced his fear, Sam rocked back onto his toes and slowly got to his feet. He wasn't going to stay on his knees for a being that had hidden away while Dean was being ripped apart and sent downstairs for an eternity of torture.

Sam snorted, "We? Seriously, what could I possibly have to offer an _Angel_?"

The bitch of the matter was that Sam didn't want anything to do with a representative of God.

Maybe Angels were all powerful, maybe they weren't. Hell they had God backing their plays, so what could they possibly want from a lowly mortal like Sam? He turned his back on the Angel and started for the Impala.

"Dean."

That one word froze Sam in his tracks. "My brother's dead." He croaked out without turning.

It was the angel's turn to snort in derision. "He was. Now, he is something else."

Sam spun around, anger flashing dangerously in his eyes, "I swear, if you don't start making some sense I'm going to plug you full of lead."

Dark eyebrows knitted together at Sam's threat. "Lead cannot hurt me young hunter."

"Jesus, it's a figure of speech."

"Ah." Was everything the Angel said, as he continued to stare at the youngest Winchester, a lie?

Sam shook his head, "I'm having a pretty shitty day here dude. So, if you could get to the point that would be just fucking swell." His head was pounding and all he wanted to do was throw up his breakfast in the bushes, away from Dean's gravesite. Because no matter what was going on, his brother wouldn't appreciate Sam vomiting all over his final resting place.

 _Or what was supposed to be your final resting place._

Castiel clasped his hands behind his back, "Your brother made a deal—"

"He tended to do things like that." Sam interrupted sharply. "Seem to recall that's what landed him here in the first place."

The Angel's expression shifted to one of irritation, "Not the deal he made to save your ungrateful life."

 _That_ hit him like a shot to the heart. He wasn't ungrateful, was he?

"This wasn't a cross-roads deal, Sam. It was a bargain made with Heaven." Castiel watched as the youngest Winchester's dark eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "And this was not the only deal he made. Dean also struck a deal with Hell."

Sam was shaking his head now, "That's not possible."

TBC…

 _ **Author's Note**_ : _Promised a chapter…so here you go!_

 **Please leave a review?**


	3. Angels, Demons, and Winchesters, Oh my

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 3** – _Angels, Demons, and Winchesters; Oh my_

Sam was fairly certain that telling a _celestial being_ that you "don't believe in them" probably wasn't the best idea, but he couldn't exactly wrap his brain around the idea that 'Angels' really do exist. Or that there was a God out there and he obviously hadn't given a damn about what happened to _his creations._ It seemed so cold, so unlike all the benevolent versions of the creator that circulated among all the many religions of the world.

And yet as a person that regularly dealt with the supernatural Sam shouldn't be all that surprised by the revelation that there actually was a "God in Heaven". That so wasn't the case, he was completely and utterly gobsmacked by the idea. So instead of saying anything, he just stood there staring at the _heavenly host_ with a ridiculous frown of denial on his face. A breeze drifted through the grove, picking at the long tendrils of hair that hung across his eyes. He shoved them back before taking a deep breath.

Apparently the _angel_ had had enough with waiting for him to come to grips with his disbelief because he started speaking again. "A moment ago you believed that I was _not possible_." Raising a dark eyebrow, he continued, "Who are you to decide what is or is not 'possible'?"

 _Damn_ , the smug _accountant-angel_ had a point.

Sam's mouth worked several times before he finally accepted that he didn't have any type of response for the being that was currently staring at him with an expectant and somehow bored expression.

Sam must have failed to meet his response expectations; "Your brother was not the typical soul that finds itself cursed into Hell. He was an _innocent._ The kind of innocent that was forced into bargaining away his soul in order to save someone he loved. It was a selfless act."

The younger Winchester had to check his immediate reaction because he knew better. Dean had saved him because his brother couldn't survive knowing he'd been unable to protect " _little Sammy_ ". That idea had been hard-wired into his older brother's very DNA. It hadn't been selfless. It had been the most selfish thing Dean had ever done. But that didn't make his brother's sacrifice any less profound. It did, however, make it a little less altruistic in Sam's eyes. But the angel was right, it was a terrible price to pay to have one more year with a little brother that hated him for it.

"That means something in that place. Since the dawn of time there has only ever been _one_ other innocent soul condemned to the rack by their own volition." The angel continued without noticing that Sam's attention had drifted. "John Winchester."

Sam jerked at that. "What?" Frowning, his eyes started to burn as the emotions gathered inside him. He couldn't have heard that correctly. Could he? _Jesus, is my entire family in Hell?_ John's sacrifice for Dean had been similar to the one Dean had made for Sam. Were they all destined to die for one another?

Castiel went on like he hadn't heard him. "Your brother was innocent, despite what you think." He turned knowing eyes on the youngest Winchester who squirmed under the intensity of that azure gaze. "Dean was approached by a host of heaven—"

"Angel. He was approached by an angel. Just fucking say that." Sam bit out angrily. He was stil having trouble with the idea that there were angels and that they would give a damn about a Winchester in Hell.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the interruption before continuing, "In order to stop the coming war Dean was granted access to a small fraction of heaven's powers." Sam's face shifted from worried to skeptical, before finally landing on blank confusion at that. The angel didn't seem to notice. "Of course that was before we knew he had also been approached, and accepted, with a deal from hell."

Several unintelligible sounds slipped past Sam's lips before he managed, "What the hell does that even mean?" He ground the question past his confusion and the anger that was simmering.

"It means that your brother." He searched for the right word. "Changed. Sam, never in creation here has never been one such as he."

Sam rolled his eyes at the angel's archaic use of the language. "Seriously?" Derision dripped off his words as he stared at the man in the suit.

Castiel didn't seem to notice his outburst. _He misses a lot. Guess he didn't spend much time on earth._ Sam thought with a mental snort.

"Your brother evolved into something that neither Heaven nor Hell foresaw. He is a thing of immense power and he cannot be controlled, not by demons and not by us. Sam, that makes him dangerous and heaven cannot suffer a being such as he to exist without control." Castiel recounted what sounded like a death sentence with a monotone certainty.

"My _brother_ can take care of himself."

"This is not something to be 'taken care of' by himself. Dean will cease to exist unless I can find him. He is dangerous Sam."

Sam bristled, "Not to me and you probably shouldn't have pissed him off."

The angel narrowed his eyes, "Your brother is being hunted by everything in creation; with the exception of you and I." He stepped closer to the human. "Make no mistake Sam Winchester, they will find him and they will kill him. No, not just kill; they will disintegrate his very essence, his soul. It will be like he was never created. "

"Bullshit."

The angel tilted his head at the crude statement. "I do not understand what bovine feces has to do with your brother."

Sam barked a laugh, and then dropped his hands to his sides as he finally lowered the gun. "Never mind. Look, if Dean is really as powerful as you say he is, I seriously doubt _he_ is the one being _hunted_." He watched the dark haired man for a few moments before he continued, "You want to know what I think? I think Dean managed to fuck up heaven and hell and now you bastards think I'm going to help you find him? You're certifiable if you think I'm gonna do that."

Castiel blew out a long breath of irritation; this was not going how he wanted. "I am not trying to trick you into revealing your brother's whereabouts—"

"Well that's good, because I have no God-damn clue where he is." His gaze flickered to the open grave. "Last I knew he was dead and buried." Pain erupted inside him. _He's dead because of me._

Sam didn't voice that last part. He clenched his jaw and swallowed thickly; he had hoped that with time he would develop better control over his raging "guilt complex". But the pain of his brother's loss was still as fresh as the day he'd buried him two years ago. Sam hated himself for what his brother had sacrificed. Selfish or not, Dean had done it for for him.

"Sam, your brother is on a very high level hit list. Demons, Angels, and every being they control want his head on a spit."

Sam's reaction was instantaneous, he surged toward the Angel with no clue of what he would actually do if he actually got his hands around the feathered bastard's neck.

Castiel held up his hands in a placating gesture, "I. Do. Not. Want. Your. Brother. Dead. I was tasked with finding him before I understood the gravity of the situation. I am simply offering assistance."

Sliding to a stop, the lanky human seemed to consider what the Angel had said. After a moment, he shook his head 'no'. "Given my family's history, you'll have to forgive me if I don't take your word for it." He said as he raised the weapon, again. "If you don't know where Dean is? And those black-eyed fuckers don't know where Dean is. That means he's not in Hell anymore." He concluded with a smirk.

"Is that not what I have been saying?" The angel frowned. "No Sam, your brother is _no longer_ in Hell." Castiel affirmed, his large blue gaze watched the younger brother with rising interest.

He was waiting for something and that made Sam distinctly nervous. "You sound pretty sure about that."

"I am very _sure_ about that." The angel took a single step closer to Sam's position. "I am the one that gripped your brother tight and pulled him from perdition."

Sam's knees threatened to buckled under that little tidbit of information. This _holy-tax-accountant_ had been the one to rescue Dean from the rack? If that was true then Sam owed this being _everything._ And he didn't like that fact. Nor did he like that he didn't know where Dean was. But at least he knew his brother was _alive_. So what if Dean was different, _who wouldn't be after being tortured in hell?_

Some of this wasn't adding up though, "Dean has been gone two years and the lore says it takes a hell of a lot longer than that to become any type of demon. So you see, now I know you're lying about some things."

"Angels do not lie." Castiel pulled in a long-suffering breath and shook his head at the stubbornness of these fallible little humans. "Time moves differently in heaven and hell."

A knot started in his gut. "What do you mean?" Sam growled as he stared down the barrel of his pistol at the angel.

"Time is a fluid thing, Sam. It is not a straight line from birth to death. In hell, one hour is equal to 10 years. Dean was in hell for 175,200 of what humans recognize a 'years'."

Sam nearly stumbled under the weight of that news. _Oh God, is there anything left of the brother that raised me?_

The angel continued, "To get off the rack Dean accepted a deal with the demon Alistair. He would take up Alistair's razor and torture the souls sent to Hell. Dean was a brilliant student, very diligent in his studies. He managed to start the demonic change within a few millennia. He should have fully converted long before he that, but for some reason he held onto a small piece of his soul, the piece that could still recognize _love._ So before he lost what was left of his humanity, my brother's offered him a way out. But in order to achieve what they desired, the angels had to give Dean access to certain celestial powers." Castiel raised an eyebrow before continuing. "Your brother took those powers along with the demon-granted power and did not hold up his end of the bargains he'd struck."

Sam's mouth worked as he attempted to wrap his head around that. His brother was a _demon_ …and apparently some freaking version of an angel. "You said _you_ pulled him from Hell."

"It was either save him from Alistair or risk losing the war before it had even begun."

"You keep talking about a war. What war?"

Castiel shifted his gaze momentarily to the tree line before answering Sam's question. " _The_ war."

"What war? Like the apocalypse? You're seriously telling me that the book of Revelations was a warning? A prediction? A fortune cookie?" he finished tightly.

"I do not understand that last reference, but yes, the bible was a roadmap of sorts. It gave the precise ingredients needed to start the final war for humanity."

The soft breeze that had been picking at Sam's hair increased to a steady wind that made hearing the angel difficult. "Are you saying my brother is an _ingredient_ in the end of the world cocktail?"

He wasn't sure what to do with any of this information. Only one thing stuck out as truly significant, Dean was alive. Did it really matter that he wasn't quite human anymore? Not one little bit.

"We do not know what Dean heard to make him accept both deals. He had been quite happy destroying the souls sentenced to his rack, but something changed and heaven does not know what it was or why he ran."

Sam snorted, "Probably because you all chased him."

SPN SPN

 _~In the Beginning - Hell~_

 _Every. Single. Day was the same for Dean Winchester._

 _Chains hung loosely from his thin boney wrists like lead weights dragging the bearer toward the deepest chasms of the Pit. Hunks of meat were skewered onto the ends of enormous hooks. The shiny crimson gore dripped down only to be burned away on the brimstone hundreds of feet below. The screams of the damned permeated the air like a poison fog, tearing down even the strongest of souls. The sessions when his eardrums were perforated were the best, there were times he missed those first decades. The demons had figured out that he actually "liked" not being able to hear, so they'd done away with that method._

 _The red and brown atmosphere was littered with a spiderweb of chains. The heavy black iron extended from unseen anchors and suspended in the middle was always a writhing soul._

 _Everyday was the same; the soul would be taken from the chains, strapped to a rack, one that the mere touch of would cause the flesh to burn from his bones, tortured, and then returned to the suspended chain web. The inflicted wounds, except those used to suspend them, would heal just in time for the start of new session. Time lost all meaning here._

 _The holes that had been burned into his side the day before had slowly filled with muscle, nerves, and skin. Then everything would start again._

 _If having his eardrums destroyed had been the best, the worst had been when a Master Torturer of Hell had scooped Dean's eyes from his sockets. While everything in the Pit was terrifying, not being able to see had been devastating. He could still hear the cries of the tortured, many of them like him, had been damned through Cross-Roads deals when they'd tried to save a loved one._

 _Dean hadn't known what to expect, hadn't thought that he'd count the heartbeats; oh but he did, he counted every single fucking one. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into years, and still he counted. Aside from the constant worry for his younger brother, he'd had nothing else to focus on._

 _Was Sammy okay? Had the demons gone after him the second Dean had been torn from his brother's side by those bitches from Hell? A shudder ran through him at the memory of the baying hellhounds. He doubted if he'd ever be able to hear a dog again without it reducing him to a puddle of fear._

 _While the pain was bad, it was Hell after all, it was 'not knowing' Sam's fate that was worse than suffering an eternity as Hell's bitch. There were days when he thought it couldn't possibly get worse._

 _Oh, how often he'd been proven wrong. Every manner of torture had been tried at least once. He'd had the flesh burned, torn, grated, filet, and sucked from his bones. Almost every demon in residence had had a "go" at him, and yes, that meant more than just torture. For some reason he'd thought that not having his corporeal body would protect him from "that", it hadn't. He'd been used like the village bicycle and it had nearly destroyed any essence of who he thought he was. The demons were bad, over all those sessions, Dean had never actually seen the "Master Torturer" Alistair. And the day that he stepped around the front of the rack and revealed his identity was the day he asked Dean "the question." And every day after that, Alistair asked the same question._

' _Would Dean climb down off the rack and take up Alistair's razor? If he did, then the torture would stop.' And for more years than could count, he'd told the white-eyed demon to 'stick it where the sun don't shine'._

 _Dean had thought that he could hold out indefinitely until the day they'd approached him wearing an exact replica of his brother. The moment the razor touched his skin Dean knew that this wasn't Sammy, but he looked like him and the demon sounded like him. The fucker even joked like Sam and it started to erode Dean's sense of self. This version of his brother was cold and ruthless. He offered no quarter as he ripped his 'older brother' apart in ways that could never be forgotten or erased. And Dean felt himself starting to slip into the oblivion of the encroaching darkness in side him. But everything changed the moment he overheard something he wasn't supposed to, something about 'Sammy'._

 _Sam was the key to bringing about the end of world; he could bring it crashing down in a display of power that would rival the first 'Fall' of an angel._

 _Dean had crawled down off the rack during that session and he'd never looked back. His one driving thought, "save Sammy". Next to selling his soul to bring back his brother, it was the easiest decision he had ever made._

 _And then that dick-Angel had shown up and complicated Dean's life by giving him yet another choice. It seemed that Alistair had taken a keen interest in Dean's demonic education; he'd assumed Winchester's young soul as his personal protégé. Which meant that Heaven was now also keenly interested in what the young man might be capable of, with the right 'motivation'._

 _Zachariah had snuck into Hell and promised that with his help Dean could save Sam. It still wasn't clear exactly how the Angel had managed to infiltrate Hell without being recognized, but he had. So Dean had agreed to the Angel's terms. The parts of his soul that had been twisted beyond recognition, warped into a tragic shadow of the hero he'd once been had rejoiced at the thought of duping a real live Angel of God. Very little humanity was left in his tattered, black soul at that moment. And what little remained belonged completely to Sam._

 _After so many years of being made a meat monkey by the demonic hosts of Hell, Dean had rejoiced at the idea of screwing over all of those black-eyed-sons-a-bitches._

 _No soul…at least no soul he'd ever heard of…had managed to become what he was. The angel that had offered the deal hadn't been able to retrieve him from the Pit. It had taken another angel that Dean had never known the identity of._

 _The opportunity had presented during one of Alistair's more inventive sessions. Dean had failed to turn a soul in the timeframe set by the Master Torturer. In order to teach him a lesson in the finer 'art' of torture, Dean had been placed back on the rack and Alistair had proven just how much he Dean 'didn't' know. Next thing he knew he was topside, confused as hell, and both angel and demon._

 _~Topside~_

Dark eyes watched from the sidelines as a _trench-coat-wearing_ angel approached the floppy-haired young hunter. The sparse aspen trees offered very little protection against the angelic senses of the powerful being. But fear hadn't been an emotion he'd felt since he'd been dumped out on Terra-firma.

No, that emotion had abandoned him so long ago that he couldn't even remember anything _but_ the word. But rage? Oh, now there was an emotion he could get on board with.

Dean Winchester struggled to push down the red glow of the almost uncontrollable anger that surged through him at this feathered asshat's audacity. He had wanted to go to his brother the moment he realized he was _out._

But he couldn't. It hadn't been safe. Not for either of them. So he'd waited in the shadows for the last two months, watching his brother struggle. The emotions hadn't come at first. Dean had been able to simply watch Sam like a 'lab experiment', but then things had started to change and he'd known that he couldn't avoid his brother forever.

But those _feather-brained dicks_ had been faster.

When Dean had clawed his way out of hell he had needed to put some protections in place for him and Sam. His memories had been all screwed up and he hadn't known what was real and what was a fucked up demon-induced memory from Hell.

His initial thought had been for himself. Learn about the powers that kept manifesting at inopportune times. He'd nearly been caught so many times that first month that was truly staggering that he was still alive. _Well, alive is a bit of a stretch. Not really sure what the hell I am now._

Dean had understood on a cellular level that this _Sam Winchester_ was important. But it took some time before he remembered that the human meat-suit was his brother. He'd never been able to put his finger on exactly why he'd been deprived his family connection at first. Maybe it was because all he had wanted to do was rip apart every possessed human he could find.

It wasn't until later that the drive to protect Sam had kicked in so strongly that it had been nearly impossible for Dean to focus on anything else. At that point his purpose manifested and nearly strangled him its intensity. He had to save his brother.

But it's not easy learning to 'un-manifest' a set of twelve-foot gray wings. Or hide the swirling black and green of his eyes. Learning to hide what he was had been one hell of a challenge and he'd had to do it alone.

Those fucking angels didn't exactly give him a manual of what to do with the _grace_ they'd _gifted_ him with. He nearly snorted with amusement at that thought. They hadn't really gifted him, absorbing the pure-grace of an angel when he was already stained by the demons had been excruciating. It had felt like his soul was being barbequed from the inside out. But that had been the deal, take in the grace and stop the demons from bringing about 'hell on earth'. Or at least that's what he'd been told by his _handlers._

 _Although I didn't exactly held up my end of the deal either._ He thought with a smirk. Dean had taken their power and then he'd focused on becoming a full-fledged demon with a single-minded purpose that had both surprised and please Alistair. He tried not to think about what the first untold years had been like.

He had swallowed his need for revenge against the ones that had thought they could control him through fear and pain and allowed _rage_ to drive him. He didn't feel fear anymore…only purpose, and a need to protect Sam. He supposed it might be possible for him to feel fear in the future, but he would deal with that if the time ever came.

"You can come out of the shadows Dean." Castiel called without turning his angelic gaze from Sam.

The younger brother gulped and his eyes lifted to pin the exact spot where Dean emerged from the cover of the foliage.

The thing that looked his brother laid eyes on Sam for the first time in over a hundred thousand years.

Deep down he knew that for Sam it had only been a couple years, but for him it had been millenniums, literally. He wasn't the same person that he'd been before he'd been pulled aprt by hellhounds. He never like this line of thinking, so he waited for the guilt and pain to assault him, none did.

Only the pull of _protection_ flared inside his black heart. Sam was his brother and he knew he should love the kid, but that was missing too. He no longer felt guilty about the death that had driven him down this road, but he also didn't feel the overwhelming _love_ that he knew had driven his bargain. However, he would die to protect Sammy from the supernatural asshats that had set their sights on using him to end the world.

The spark of _something_ flickered inside him; he ignored it and focused on the angel. "I wondered when you'd call me out." He quipped in a jovial tone before he sauntering out into the sunlight. The black leather jacket did little to hide the dark qualities that now surrounded him like a shroud. His gaze flashed between his brother's incredulous expression and the angel's blank stare.

Sam's mouth dropped open and he stared at Dean like he'd grown a second pair of wings. _Of course that could happen, I suppose._ He thought with interest.

His little brother continued to stare, but he didn't say a damn word, so Dean, in true Winchester style said, "Hey'ya Sammy."

 _TBC…_

 **Author's Note:** _Sunday chapter complete! Hope you are all enjoying the direction of the story so far. Drop me a review if you are._

 _Chapter 4 preview_ –

"Castiel stared at the brothers. He'd been all set to find and capture this traitor, but as he watched the interaction between Dean and Sam he wondered if maybe his orders were wrong. He pulled his head up, squared his shoulders, and made a decision. He was a soldier; it wasn't his place to question the orders of his superiors. He waited until Dean was distracted before stepping forward and carefully positioning the handcuffs he carried. The angelic wards on the cuffs were mixed with various versions of devil's traps all etched into the pure white gold that made up the archangel blades. Only these cuffs had the power to sever Dean's access to his demon and angel granted gifts.

The traitor was so engrossed with his brother that he missed the flash of movement before Castiel managed to get the cuff on his left wrist. Dean spun and lashed out, not with his power, but with his fist. It slammed into the side of the angel's head sending him reeling backwards before he was able to clamp the cuff on the right wrist. The elder Winchester hissed in pain as the metal began immediately glowing white-hot as it seared his flesh."

– _**End of chapter 4 preview**_

 **Please take the time to review this current chapter. :)**


	4. Trust Me

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Previous Chapter:**

 _~Topside~_

Dark eyes watched from the sidelines as a _trench-coat-wearing_ angel approached the floppy-haired young hunter. The sparse aspen trees offered very little protection against the angelic senses of the powerful being. But fear hadn't been an emotion he'd felt since he'd been dumped out on Terra-firma.

No, that emotion had abandoned him so long ago that he couldn't remember anything _but_ , what was the word? Oh yeah, rage. Now there was an emotion he could get on board with.

Dean Winchester struggled to push down the red glow of the almost uncontrollable anger that surged through him at this feathered asshat's audacity. He had wanted to go to his brother the moment he realized he was _out._ But he couldn't. It hadn't been safe. Not for either of them. So he'd waited in the shadows for the last two months, watching his brother struggle.

The emotions hadn't come at first. Dean had been able to simply watch Sam like a 'lab experiment' and feel nothing beyond duty, but then things had started to change and he'd finally understood that he couldn't avoid his brother forever. _Not if I want to protect him._

But those _feather-brained dicks_ had been faster.

When Dean had clawed his way out of hell he had needed to put some protections in place for him and Sam. His memories had been all screwed up and he hadn't known what was real and what was a fucked up demon-induced memory from Hell.

His initial thoughts had only been for Sam, but he knew that he had to learn about these powers, the ones that kept manifesting at inopportune moments. He'd nearly been caught so many times that first month that it was truly staggering he was still alive. _Well, alive is a bit of a stretch. Not really sure what I am now._ He thought.

Dean had understood on a cellular level that this _Sam Winchester_ was important. But it took some time before he remembered that the human meat-suit was more than that, he was Dean's _brother_. He'd never been able to put his finger on exactly why he'd been deprived his familial connection at first. Maybe it was because, at first, all he'd wanted to do was rip apart every possessed human he could get his hands on.

It wasn't until later that the drive to protect Sam had kicked in so strongly that it had been impossible for Dean to focus on anything else. At that point a purpose for his return manifested inside him and he was nearly strangled with the intensity. He had to save his family. He had to save _Sam_.

But wasn't easy learning to 'un-manifest' a set of twelve-foot gray wings. Or hide the swirling black and green of his eyes. Learning to repress what he was had been one hell of a challenge, and he'd had to do it alone. There was no robed old man to guide him on his way to self-discovery. This wasn't a hero's journey after all it was something very different.

Those fucking angels hadn't exactly give him a manual of what to do with the _grace_ they'd _gifted_ him with. He nearly snorted with amusement at that thought. They hadn't really gifted him with anything, absorbing the pure-grace of an angel when he was already stained by the demon's influence had been excruciating. Worse than any day on the rack had ever been. It had felt like his very essence was being barbequed and then ripped away from the inside out. But that had been the deal, take in the grace and stop the demons from bringing about 'hell on earth'. Or at least that's what he'd been told by his angelic _handlers._

 _Although, I didn't exactly hold up my end of the deal either,_ he thought with a smirk. Dean had taken their offered power and then he'd dedicated himself to becoming a full-fledged demon with such a single-minded purpose that it had both surprised and pleased Alistair. He tried not to think about what the first untold years had been like.

He had swallowed his need for revenge against the supernatural jerks that had thought they could control him through fear and pain. He allowed the _rage_ to drive him. Dean didn't feel fear anymore…only purpose, and a need to protect Sam. He supposed it might be possible for him to feel fear in the future, but he would deal with that if the time ever came. He was reminded of his purpose when a deep voice called out from the gravesite.

"You can come out of the shadows Dean." Castiel said without turning his angelic gaze from Sam.

The younger Winchester brother gulped and his eyes lifted to pin the exact spot where Dean emerged from the cover of the foliage.

The thing that looked like his brother laid eyes on Sam for the first time in over a hundred thousand years.

Deep down he knew that for Sam it had only been a couple years, but for him it had been millenniums, literally. He wasn't the same person that he'd been before he'd been pulled apart by hellhounds and stitched back together by angels. He had never liked this line of thinking, so he waited for the guilt and pain to assault him, they didn't.

There was only the pull of _protection_ ; it flared to life inside his black heart. Sam had been his brother and he knew that he should feel something toward the kid, but that was missing too. He no longer felt guilty about the death that had driven him down this road, but he also didn't feel the overwhelming _love_ that he knew had driven both of his bargains. However, he knew he would die to protect Sammy from the supernatural asshats that had set their sights on using him to end the world.

A small spark of _something_ flickered inside him before draining away; he ignored it and focused on the angel. "I wondered when you'd call me out." He quipped in a jovial tone before sauntering out into the sunlight. The black leather jacket did little to hide the dark qualities that now surrounded him like a supernatural shroud. His gaze flickered between his brother's incredulous expression and the angel's blank stare.

Sam's mouth dropped open and he stared at Dean like he'd grown a second pair of wings. _Of course that could happen, I suppose._ He thought with interest.

His little brother continued to stare, but he didn't say a damn word, so Dean, in true Winchester style said, "Hey'ya Sammy."

 _TBC…_

 **Chapter 4** – _Trust me…_

Sam stared, stupefied by the thing wearing his brother's face. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, what was clearly standing before him. Dean didn't move, he simply watched the torrent of emotions crash across his brother's expressive face.

Sam sputtered several times before he found his question, "How?"

"I have already answered 'how'." Castiel replied.

Confused eyes flashed toward him and then back to Dean, who had yet to say another word or move an inch. If Sam didn't know better he would say that Dean wasn't even blinking, nothing moved. No muscle twitches. No running his long fingers through his hair in a nervous manner as he waited for Sam to accept him. It was all wrong! This _thing_ couldn't be Dean.

Sam's older brother was all chaos and frenetic energy. To put it simply, Dean never stopped moving. The unwanted image of his brother's torn and tattered body lying in complete stillness flashed through his mind and he nearly buckled under the weight of it. Dean's green eyes had stared up at nothing, flecks of drying blood had freckled his face in an alien pattern of death. Swaths of skin had been torn open revealing internal organs and the white tips of Dean's bones. Swallowing the crippling pain, Sam lifted his gaze again, and _looked_.

"The hellhounds…" he croaked out. He could hear the unending screams of his brother, begging for help, and the howling cries of the hounds as they echoed through his skull in cacophony of violence. Sam scrubbed at his eyes in an effort to drive out the bloody images.

Stormy Ocean colored eyes again lifted to meet the expectant emerald green and deep black of his brother's gaze. He couldn't quite make out Dean's features and his brother shrugged. That he could have understood in complete darkness.

"Yeah, that sucked out loud. Hellhound bitches did a real number on my gorgeous ass. Took me a while, but I fixed it." Dean said flippantly.

Surprised by the very "Dean-ness" of that response, Sam blinked, his mouth twitching as he searched for the words to respond with. Finally he managed another, "How?"

Dean lifted a dark blonde eyebrow in dismissal. Like it was commonplace for a soul to return from Hell, crawl back into their emaciated body and go marching around like nothing had ever happened. Dean lifted his left arm and unlaced a black leather armband revealing several symbols that Sam had never seen, but Castiel had.

The angel stepped forward, surprise written in every muscle of his face. "That's Enochian. How did you come by the knowledge to use that spell?" It was forbidden for angels to reveal the language of God to mortals. But revealing to a demon was one of the most heinous crimes a host of Heaven could commit and no human should ever know this language.

Again Dean shrugged, "Found it lying around in some dusty old book that was just waiting to be read." He tilted his head to the side and snorted derisively, "Contrary to popular belief I _can_ read."

The quip hit Sam like a ton of bricks. Without meaning to he could hear his _brother_ in those words, and it hurt more than he'd have thought possible. Dean had been gone for so long that Sam had long buried the sound of his brother's voice. It had been an effort to ease the gut-wrenching loss.

He'd never thought of his older brother as _stupid_. Dean had been a lot of things in his life, but an idiot had never been one of them. For the first time he _really looked_ at thing claiming to be his brother. Where he'd thought there'd been green eyes he saw something different. The sclera of Dean's eyes wasn't white like a normal persons would be, it was a deep oily black and where the iris should show a normal human green was a deep emerald color that almost seemed to glow.

Dean shifted forward, but the instant Sam retreated away instinctively he stopped and sighed, "I'm still a _version_ of me, Sammy."

The younger Winchester froze; hearing his brother's pet name for him again was like ice water in the face. "A _version_ of you?" Sam shook his head, "I don't understand." He said softly.

"I know you don't, but right now I need you to trust me. They're coming for you Sam and I can't protect you in the open like this." Dean answered, his tone suddenly deadly serious.

"Castiel stared at the Winchester brothers. He'd been all set to find and capture this traitor, but as he watched the familial interaction between Dean and Sam he wondered if maybe his orders were wrong. He pulled his head up, squared his shoulders, and made a decision. He was a soldier; it wasn't his place to question the orders of his superiors. He waited until Dean was distracted before stepping forward and carefully positioning the handcuffs he carried. The angelic wards on the cuffs were mixed with various versions of devil's traps and Enochian, all of which were etched into the pure white gold that made up the archangel blades. Only these cuffs had the power to sever Dean's access to both his demonic and angelic granted gifts.

The _traitor_ was so engrossed with his brother that he missed the flash of movement before Castiel managed to get one of the cuffs on his left wrist. Dean spun and lashed out, not with his power, but with his fist. The angel was so surprised that he didn't manage to avoid the physical contact. Dean's fist slammed into the side of the angel's head sending him reeling backwards before he was able to clamp the cuff onto the other wrist. The elder Winchester hissed in pain as the metal began immediately glowing white-hot as it seared his flesh by reversing the power inside Dean. Whatever powers the traitor used would be turned back on him and focused through the bracelet.

"What are you doing?" Sam cried out before his brother was instantly at his side, grabbing him with his right hand and suddenly they were no longer at the gravesite.

A wash of dizziness overcame him as he slammed into the ground and crumpled to his knees before retching. He spat out the last taste of the vomit and wiped at his lips before sinking back onto his heels, his knees solidly in the dirt. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sam asked through clenched teeth.

Dean did not lean over him. He did not pat Sam's back in sympathy, as he would have before the _deal_. Instead he remained several feet away, like the distance was necessary or something. His face was impassive as he stared down at Sam, "Saving you, jackass." Dean growled out.

The response was so totally _Dean_ , but the way he said it couldn't have been further from Dean's warm tones. Sam pulled himself up onto unsteady legs and swayed. When they threatened to fail him again he was suddenly leaning on something solid. _Dean._ His mind supplied effortlessly. Apparently his mind was faster to grasp what was happening than the rest of him.

After several moments Sam managed to push off of Dean and balance on his own two gangly legs. He swiped his fingers through his long hair, pushing it out of his eyes, more in habit than because he was trying to see something.

He turned, "Am I just supposed to believe you?"

Dean stepped away and tilted his head to the side, appraising Sam in a way that made the younger Winchester distinctly uncomfortable. "Yes, you are." He said simply.

"Why would I?" Sam ground out, his own anger finally pushing through the shock.

"Because it happens to be the truth." Dean's strange colored eyes sliced into Sam like a knife and he had to look away. A slight breeze whispered across his sweaty skin and he swallowed thickly before looking back. Dean hadn't shifted a muscle.

The pain nearly gutted him when his gaze landed on the stiff figure of his brother. It hurt to look at Dean and know that he wasn't the same big brother that had called Sam "bitch" throughout their lives. His heart clenched at the loss, "Why?" he finally asked.

"Sam, I know that I wasn't honest with you when I alive, but I promise you here and now that I won't lie to you. Not about anything. Not ever." There were no emotional intonations to interpret as he finished his oath. Dean knew that Sam wouldn't know what those words would cost him if he ever broke that oath. _Doesn't matter, he deserves the truth from me. God knows I never gave him that when I was alive._ The thoughts were a silent admission that Dean would never make out loud.

Sam's eyes shot up and his lips parted in a silent 'Oh'. As he tried to gather his thoughts he looked around them trying to stall for time. An old barn sat about 300 yards from where they were currently standing, a dried field of corn husks stretched as far as the eye could see, and beyond it a bright blue sky disappeared into the distance, like a mirage.

"Why should I believe you? Dean never had any problem lying to me. And God knows demons have no problem bending the truth into a pretzel. So what makes you any different than any other black-eyed son of bitch?"

A twitch in Dean's cheek was the only evidence that he was affected by the harsh words. "Because I am still your brother. I am still Dean Winchester. I do have a bit more power now."

Sam snorted, "A bit more? That's all you have to say?"

Dean was silent for a few moments as he considered Sam's question. Finally he gathered enough of his human memories to continue, "When you were seven you broke your arm jumping out a window because you thought that Batman could fly. I had to figure out how to get your broken ass on a bicycle that I stole from the neighbors in order to get you to the hospital. Dad was on a hunting trip." Dean answered in an emotionless voice. "I tried to tell you that it was Superman that flies, not Batman. And I was always Batman, you were always superman, but that day you'd begged me to let you be the dark knight."

Sam listened with rising horror as Dean recounted a piece of their childhood that he'd all but forgotten. But it was also the strange way that his brother told the story, like he was reading it from a queue card not reliving the memory. He stared at Dean in confusion. He couldn't tell if this thing was really good liar or if there was some part of his older brother hiding inside it. _Or at least some version Dean._ But that had been such a random memory that he had to entertain that some part of man he'd grown up with was still inside the strange-eyed man staring at him expectantly. "How are you out?" Sam asked.

"It's complicated."

"The un-complicate it." Sam answered flatly.

Dean sighed and looked around before seeing a fence. He sauntered over and climbed up, perching on it with his knees drawn up under him and his elbows resting on them as he leaned forward. "It's a long story." He answered softly.

Sam huffed before walking over and jumping up to sit next to him almost mirroring his position. "If only we were stuck in the middle of a farm with nothing to do and nowhere to go." He said evenly before glancing over expectantly.

Dean suddenly shoved off, landing lightly on his feet, his eyes flashing up toward the skyline. His expression darkened, "Sam, I will tell you everything. I promise I will. But right now we need to go."

Sam slipped off the fence, turning to look off in the distance. He didn't see anything. Dean reached for him and Sam took an involuntary step backward, his hand coming up in an automatic defensive motion. He watched as Dean froze, his face slipping back into the blank stare that reminded the younger Winchester of the _masks_ his brother wore when he was hiding his emotions. Sam had called it _the great wall of Dean_ when they were growing up, apparently it wasn't something that even a stint in Hell could erase.

"Sorry." Sam muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

Dean shrugged it off with a look of indifference, "It's fine. But we need to go. They're coming and I can't hide your presence for much longer."

That little revelation caused Sam's head to snap up in surprise. "Sorry, what was that about 'hiding' me?" He blinked in confusion, "What the hell does that mean?"

Dean's voice dropped and he pinned Sam with his strange eyes, "It means that both heaven and hell can track your bloodline—"

"You're my _bloodline_ too." He interrupted irritably.

"Not anymore."

"What?"

The man standing across from Sam sighed in frustration. "Sam, I will explain everything once you're safe. Until then, please trust me."

Sam snorted, "You just said you weren't my brother anymore. Not the best way to get me to _trust_ you." He turned and stalked off only to find his body frozen mid-stride.

"I didn't say I wasn't your brother. I said I wasn't your bloodline anymore." The words were more of hiss than actual conversation.

Sam turned glacial eyes on his captor, "Not seeing the distinction here." He took a deep breath in an effort to control both the growing fear of what his brother might be now and the need to punch him in the face. "Wanna let me go?"

A muscle jumped in Dean's cheek before Sam felt the invisible restraints on his body instantly release. He nearly tipped over at the sudden lack of pressure holding him in place. Dean walked past him without another word. "Gee, thanks." Sam ground past his clenched teeth.

Dean turned back, "You're mad when I stop you from walking away. You're mad when I let you go, what the hell do I have to do to convince you that I'm here to save you? That I literally crawled out of Hell and pissed off the heavenly hosts just to get back to you? Because I needed to keep you safe."

Sam was quiet for a moment before, "To start with you can tell me what kind of danger I'm in."

The rustling of trees alerted both of them that they might not be alone. Dean's eyes shifted to the exact spot where the noise had originated, his hands balled into fists. "We don't have time for this. They're almost here."

" _Who_ is coming?" Sam cried out in frustration.

Dean turned to look at him, there was a hint of fear lacing the younger Winchester's words and he was shifting from left to right and back again. It was strange, Dean could see the emotions clouding his brother's face, but he couldn't find the same levels of emotions within himself.

A crackle of lightning off in the distance jerked Sam's eyes in that direction, he squinted thinking it might help him identify whatever Dean was seeing; it didn't. A moment before the skies had been clear and blue. A feeling of dread knotted in his stomach and he swallowed all the questions he desperately wanted to ask this version of his brother.

Dean's eyes scanned the quickly darkening horizon, apparently he saw whatever it was he was looking for because he turned and grabbed Sam's wrist without asking before answering Sam's question with a rushed, "Everyone."

Another wave of nausea was Sam's only warning that they were 'flashing' somewhere again. His only sensation was the trickle of something as it dripped over his hand and he saw the sky open up before all hell broke loose. And in the blink of an eye the scenery shifted again.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean ignored the blinding pain that started in his left wrist, traveling along his arm, through his chest and piercing his brain. He could feel that his powers were severely limited by the white gold cuffs with angel graffiti on them. His heart was hammering so hard he wondered if it would actually jump out his chest like some lame version of Aliens. The mental picture of his bloody heart chasing people around as they screamed sent a trickle of emotion coursing through him. Grinding his teeth together he continued to pull Sam through the darkness toward, well, anywhere else.

They burst into the opening where Sam had come looking for him several hours before. Dean sincerely hoped that the damn angel had found somewhere else to kick it. As soon as their feet landed he lost his grip on Sam and the pain scorched its way through him. Dean fell to his knees as the meager contents of his stomach emptied all over the dried grass in a sick parallel of his brother's performance earlier.

Sam stumbled when the _landed,_ quickly righting himself before staring down at his brother with a rising horror that both terrified him and gave him hope. And then the unthinkable happened.

He staggered back several steps, his eyes blown wide with the shock of what was seeing. Two enormous gray wings were spread in either direction of Dean's shoulders. Not the normal fluffing wings that most people associated with angles, no these were shimmering in a way that was anything but normal. Staring at the shimmery blur, Sam could see the wings shifting back and forth between bat-like wings and gray feathers. And as quickly as they'd appeared, the wings suddenly vanished.

Dean continued to heave as he struggled to catch his breath. A racking cough followed as he slowly sank back onto his heels, his hands resting on his thighs. It was he could do just to keep breathing. Only then did Sam see the bright red blood dripping off the ends of his brother's long fingers. Beneath the white-gold cuff the skin looked like it had been flayed open staring about an inch above the supernatural restraint and stopping just below Deans elbow.

Without thinking Sam asked, "Does it hurt?"

The version of his brother, kneeling at his feet, scoffed, "No, it feels wonderful." He held up his bloody wrist, "Wanna try it? All the kids are doing it."

Sam pressed his lips together in irritation, "I was just asking, don't be a jerk."

"Don't be a bitch." Dean shot back as he slowly pulled himself up onto his unsteady legs. He was concentrating on not keeling over so he missed the pained expression that ghosted over his brother's face.

"Where are we?"

Dean looked around and shrugged. "Back at my grave."

Sam huffed, "I don't think that's funny.

"You asked. Not my fault you don't the answer." Dean turned and started toward a grove of trees. When he didn't immediately hear his brother following him he called back, "You coming?"

He heard the muttered curse before Sam jogged after him. Dean tried to listen with his _other senses_ as they walked, but his wrist burned so badly that he couldn't concentrate. Chances were pretty damn good that whatever was following them would catch onto his trick fairly quickly. While he knew that they couldn't really track him, he glanced over at Sam's lanky form, _they can track you._ His eyes dropped to where the blood still trickled off the ends of his fingers and he pulled in a long breath before he stopped.

Sam halted and turned, "What is it?"

Without another word Dean grabbed Sam with his right hand and pressed his left palm into the middle of Sam's chest. He uttered one word and a burst of power slammed into Sam and traveled along his ribcage, around to his back, and up over his shoulder blades.

Starbursts of pain screamed up Dean's arm from the cuff and the raw flesh traveled another two inches up his forearm meeting just beneath his elbow. He had no time to contemplate the exponential increase of pain because his _baby brother_ lashed out with his fist and caught Dean square along the jawline. He staggered backwards, his foot catching on a clump of weeds before he landed on his ass with painful _thump_.

Sam was rubbing at his rubs briskly and glaring down at him in anger. "What the hell was that Dean?" His eyes softened a tiny bit when he saw the increase in ruined flesh traveling up his brother's arm.

The world swam in front of Dean's eyes as he struggled to control the pain. Every time he used his supernatural power the damn cuff scorched him with a combination of fire and ice. In all the years he'd been in Hell he'd never felt anything like it. It was like every nerve was firing on all cylinders and there was nothing he could do but wait out the agony. He pulled in a stilted breath before lifting his strangely colored eyes to his brother's angry face. "I etched your ribs."

Sam's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he tilted his head to the side. It was a habit he'd gained somewhere around his tenth birthday. Whenever he was trying to figure something out and things just weren't adding up. Maybe he was trying to get all his brain cells on one side so they'd function better? He realized that that would be his brother's rationalization for his automatic response.

"You did what?" he squeaked. _Not very manly but at the moment I don't give a shit._

Speaking slowly, like he was trying to explain a very complicated thing to a child, Dean continued, "I etched your ribs with sigils. They were tracking you."

Sam's temper finally exploded, "WHO is tracking me?!" he cried as he spread his arms wide and spun around. "So far as I can see, you're the only one hauling me around without permission."

Knowing that he couldn't argue against on of Sam's tirades, Dean used the pain to focus his frustration. "Demons. Angels. And God only knows what else."

Shocked into silence, Sam stared as his mouth fell open in small "oh". "So what are _you,_ my own personal 'guardian angel'?" he finally managed to ask.

Shaking his head at his brother's stupidity, Dean pressed his lips together trying to bite back the snarky response that were sitting heavily on his lips. "No. I'm your brother." He answered softly before turning and striding off again.

An indignant squeak was his only cue that Sam had followed him. The dried twigs crackled and shifted beneath their boots as he led them deeper into the dank blackness of the trees. The smell of decaying leaves and an overwhelming scent of dirt permeated the air, leaving Dean slightly dizzy. _Or maybe it's the blood loss?_ He nearly stopped walking at that thought. It couldn't be the blood loss. Neither angels nor demons were dependent on their physical bodies like that. Yes, the loss of blood would temporarily weaken them, but their internal power would soon restore their bodies to perfect health.

Except that didn't seem to be the case for him. When he got injured he had to heal the same way he had when he was human, slowly and with great pain. He didn't know what the difference was, but it was quite obvious that there was definitely one. His eyes dropped to the white-gold cuff and he ground his teeth together at the bloody sight. The flesh was missing in large swaths beneath the damn angel/demon warded _jewelry_. Had that feathered asshat managed to get both of them on him, Dean was fairly certain he'd have been completely helpless.

 **Author's Note:** _I received a lot of IM's about continuing not only this story, but my others as well. I wanted to let everyone know that I haven't fallen off the face of the planet, but between work and the joys of home ownership my time has been quite limited. I am, however, committed to completing this story and any others still hanging out there. Hope you are all enjoying the direction of the story so far. Drop me a review if you are._


	5. The Gift

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 _ **Chapter 5**_

 _The Gift_

Dean had no idea how far he'd walked before he stepped out of the grove of trees and onto the blacktop covering the street. He was dizzy and the pain was ratcheting up to a level that could have rivaled the rack on a bad day, even a bad day in hell was worse than a person's worst nightmares. So the fact that this was making him think of it wasn't a good thing. _Bloody piece of angel jewelry._ A blurry black shape sitting directly in front of him sent a zing of memories washing over him.

The Impala.

The sleek black car was waiting on the side of the street. She was in pristine condition with a shiny new wax coat and buffed silver rims. Dean stopped to stare. He'd spent his entire life in that car, _up until I died,_ and a part of him had hoped that Sam would be as attached to it as he was. As it turned out his little brother loved that car every bit as much as he did.

He heard Sam stumbling out of the wooded area behind him, but Dean's gaze remained locked on the car. Reverently he touched his fingertips to the sleek metal. He was rewarded by a shock of memories that were as confusing as they were crazy. His vision dimmed and stabbing pain pummeled his skull sending spikes of agony into every cell as image after image raced through it.

 _He saw himself kneeling by an open black pit, Sammy standing across from him with his girly-long hair blowing wildly in an unnatural wind. His brother's image was blurry, like looking through a window drenched in water. It took him several seconds to identify why; Dean couldn't open his left eye at all. It was swollen shut and his face felt like a punching bag that had lost all the stuffing._

" _It's okay Dean. I've got him." Sam hissed through ragged breathing. The youngest Winchester spread his long arms out wide and then tilted forward. His body disappeared into the chasm, but not without taking someone else with him. Dean had no idea who the blond man was that tackled Sam as they both tumbled into the darkness, but it was obvious that his brother did._

 _An instantaneous and overwhelming feeling of failure assaulted Dean as he knelt in the sudden silence. His heart seized at the loss he'd just experienced and just when he thought he couldn't stand anymore, the freaking accountant angel in the tan trench coat appeared. He frowned; his deep blue eyes sad as he reached out land aid his hand along Dean's jaw. It hurt like hell. Even that light pressure was agonizing. With a jarring shock, the pain subsided to no more than a memory and yet the deepest wound Dean had suffered would never heal. He'd failed. His brother had died and all he had been able to do was watch as Sam sacrificed himself for some unknown reason._

 _The memory faded into another scene. This time Dean was lying slumped on the concrete floor of a warehouse; his face and body were a bloody wreck. There was a silver metallic blade lying forgotten near his limp hand. His eyes were defeated and his head slumped in failure as the blood drained from the gash in his chest. His brother screamed and suddenly Sam was leaning over him, tears streaking down his face as he begged Dean not to die. He gently cradled his brother's broken body against his own broad chest. The strong rhythmic beating of Sam's heart lulled Dean into a calm silence. He could almost feel his little brother's fingers as they softly wrapped around his face, tilting it back so Sam could look him straight in the eyes._

 _The only thing that Dean could think of was 'help Sammy; he's hurting. We don't hurt Sam, not ever. Gotta save Sammy'. So_ Dean gathered what _little strength remained inside him and opened his leaden eyelids a bit wider. The sticky pressure of his own blood fought against him as he forced the lids apart. With great effort he focused on Sam's blurry image._

" _Hey, hey it's going to be okay." Sam rasped through his rapidly tightening throat._

' _Gotta tell Sammy. He has to know.' Finally Dean managed to say what was filling his soul with the strongest sense of pride he'd ever felt. "I'm proud of us." His voice was gravelly and weak as he said the one thing he'd always been afraid to utter out loud._

 _And with that his vision darkened again. This time he was being repeatedly punched in the face. Over and over his attacker rocked him with powerful blows. Dean's arms were wrapped around his head trying to protect himself the best he could. But he couldn't seem to fight back. It didn't matter how much he wanted to, his muscles wouldn't obey his commands. Finally the blows stopped and he slowly lowered his arms. Several minutes passed before his eyes could focus through the swelling and the blood. Kneeling over him was Sam. His fists were a bloody wreck and he was heaving in air like he'd just run a marathon. Only in this case he'd just beat the holy loving shit out of his brother._

 _A part of Dean's soul, that he thought had been cauterized on that damned rack, cried out in denial. Sammy would never do this. He would never attack his brother and beat him into submission._

 _The images shifted again and Dean found himself stepping into a rose garden, a tall man in a white suit stood several feet away at the base of an arch. An impending sense of dread settled on his shoulders as he stepped into the small clearing. The man turned around and Dean's breath caught, it was Sam. But it wasn't Sam. He looked closer and rage replaced the shock. It wasn't his brother's soul he saw staring back at him it was Lucifer's. Somehow those angel dicks had convinced Sam to say yes to that douchebag. A sick smile pulled at the edges of not-Sam's lips as he turned fully._

" _Well, aren't you a surprise." It didn't even sound like Sam. The voice might have been the same, but there was something sinister lurking around the edges._

 _Another shift, but this time Dean found himself standing face to face with what could only be the angel of_ Death _and she looked fucking pissed._

" _You shouldn't be here." Her brown eyes glittered with repressed emotions that looked out of place. She stepped forward and held her hand out until it slid along his jawline._

 _A cold sensation followed the unnatural caress. "Not really sure where 'here' is so I suppose I can't argue with you." He shot back in a snarky tone._

 _Her eyes narrowed and her long fingers wrapped around his throat until the air was cut off and he was struggling to peel her hand away. "I don't find you funny, Dean." she softly._

 _His eyes widened in surprise. She knew his name? And yet he couldn't remember ever having met her. Just as his vision began to dim at the edges she released her hold on him and he slumped to the ground gasping and coughing. "Who are you?" he wheezed._

" _I have many names. But you know me as Billy." She stepped around him and leaned against her scythe. With a tilt of her head she smiled knowingly, "Well, you would have known me had you stayed on your path." She began circling him slowly, "But you Winchesters don't exactly play by the rules do you."_

 _It wasn't a question and it obvious that she wasn't expecting an answer._

 _She glanced around and the darkness lifted revealing a library full of journals._

 _Dean's eyes spun around the room in surprise, "And I don't even have a library card."_

Frowning deeply she ignored him. " _This is where the story of your life is chronicled." She reached out and pulled a journal off a shelf. Her tall scythe disappeared and she flipped through the black pages. Billy's nose crinkled with irritation and she turned to hand the book to Dean._

 _"No thanks. I'm more of cliffs notes guy." She shook the book once as she continued holding it out. Slowly he pulled himself onto his feet before reaching out to take it. Something told him that he didn't really want to know what was inside._

" _Open it." She instructed, her eyes dark and foreboding as she waited for him to do as he was told._

 _His hand trembled as he slid his left hand along the leather bound cover and slowly pulled it away from the pages. He didn't know exactly what he'd expected, but he knew this wasn't it. He flipped another page back, and another, and another. Within seconds he was thumbing through all of the pages frantically. Dean got to the end of the book and lifted confused eyes as he waited for an explanation._

 _Billy inhaled slowly and strolled to a chair that Dean didn't remember being there a moment before and sank down gracefully. "They used to be full." Her hand lifted, and she gestured to_ all _the books that lined the endless rows of shelves. "Every one of these books had a version of your life and death. Every possible choice and outcomes was spelled out in detailed entries inside those leather-bound journals." She leaned back and steepled her fingers thoughtfully. "Until now."_

 _Dean flinched at the cold clinical way she said that. Something told him that the fact that_ Death _had no idea how his story ends probably wasn't a good thing. "Why are you telling me all of this? What the hell am I doing here?"_

" _That's the big question isn't it. 'Why am I here? What's the meaning of my life?'" She stood up and walked toward him. "Blah blah blah." With a snap of her fingers the scythe was again in her grasp._

 _Dean stumbled backwards trying to put some distance between them. The part of his soul that was demonic relished the idea of putting that long blade through her smug face. Almost like she knew what he was thinking she transferred the scythe to side further away from him._

" _If your death isn't in my library, it stands to reason that I am not the one to kill you." Her lips thinned, "I assumed you Winchesters were smarter than this. Obviously I was wrong."_

" _Stop stalling." He growled. "I'm guessing you brought me here for some reason. So if it's not to kill me, then get the hell on with it."_

 _The library faded into the darkness and Dean found himself standing alone with only Billy's leather clad body as company. "It isn't what I want. Trust me if I was getting what I want I would be dragging your mangled soul into the darkness and locking it away in pit so deep that you'd never crawl out."_

 _He swallowed and furrowed his eyebrows as that little nugget sunk in. What had he done to earn the wrath of big mama reaper? Okay, besides dying and being brought back supernaturally on more occasions than any mortal should. But that was it. Other than that, he hadn't done a damn thing! "If you hate me so much, what's with the slide show?"_

" _Oh that wasn't a slide show. That's the life you would have lived. The apocalypse you and Sam would have stopped. The people you would have saved." She tilted her head to the side and lifted a dark eyebrow for emphasis. "But you put yourself and Sam above all of that." She stepped closer to him; "You doomed all those souls because you couldn't face life or death without your brother."_

 _Dean clenched his jaw, the muscles jumping as he listened. His emotions might be frayed from his time in hell, but he sure as hell remembered what it was to be angry. And she was making him really fucking angry. "You have no idea what you're talking about."_

Again she lifted her eyebrow as if to say, ' _You know better than that.'_

 _Shaking his head he turned toward her, "Why am I here?!" he cried out in frustration._

" _I'm going to give you a gift Dean, something that mortals never see. I'm going to show you what would have been. And what will happen if you don't find the last bit of your humanity, because you can't save Sam or anyone else in your current condition. Find the strength to live again."_

 _He didn't have time to blink before she touched him with the pointy end of the scythe. Within a heartbeat Dean had more years of memories that he'd never experienced. He saw himself climbing out of a pine box, alone. He saw his reunion with Sam in the motel room, Ruby, and his brother drinking demon blood to hulk up his demon-granted powers. There was the first meeting with the angel Castiel and how they forged a friendship and bond that pissed off heaven as much as Dean had when he'd taken their power and run…and on and on and on._

 _The images faded out as the silver blade again buried itself inside his chest. Suddenly Sam was folded over him as great waves of grief rolled off his brother with a strength that Dean couldn't quite grasp._

" _I'm proud of us…" he whispered before his head dropped forward and the light faded from his eyes._

" _Hey, hey, no, no wake up. Dean? Dean?!" Sam called out. His voice cracked with the tears that now flowed freely down his stubbled cheeks._

XXXX

"Hey Dean?" a hand landed on his shoulder and he spun out of reflex sending his fists flying into whoever owned that hand. Emotions that Dean couldn't handle warred with both his angelic and demonic sides. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't.

"Ouch! Son of a bitch, Dean. What was that for?" Sam cried as he reached up rubbing at his lower jaw.

Dean turned and stared at this much younger version of the brother he'd just seen. It felt as though he'd seen his brother at multiple points throughout his life. But that wasn't possible, was it? Flashes of tall dark woman with black eyes that seemed to have no bottom blurred inside his head. He didn't realize he was sitting on the hard cold ground until Sam sank down next to him.

"What the hell just happened?" Sam asked as he held Dean upright. All thoughts of this _not_ being his older brother vanished in that moment.

Dean pulled in several breaths to try and clear the cobwebs and collect the images that now haunted him. These new memories remained but the emotions that had been driving all his actions in that other life faded into nothing. Blinking at Sam he searched for the words to apologize, to ask for his help, and yet Dean found nothing.

"Dean?" Sam finally seemed to notice that something was seriously wrong with his brother. He didn't step close this time, but his face did shift to one of concern rather than anger. "You okay?"

Slowly Dean shook his head. He was having a hard time determining what were real memories and what was part of whatever bullshit vision he'd just experienced. A wave of pain rolled up through him as his arm reminded him of the warded cuff that still resided there. With great effort he managed a soft, "Something is wrong."

And with that admission he dropped to the ground like felled tree.

"DEAN!" The desperate panic in his brother's voice was the last Dean heard before the darkness claimed him.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you can spare the time. Thank you for reading.**

 **Author's Note:** _Hope you are all enjoying the massive shift in direction that the story has taken to this point. Drop me a review if you are._


	6. The Impala

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 _ **Chapter 6**_

 _The Impala_

Sam rushed forward trying to catch Dean's falling body more out of habit than conscious thought. His arms strained as he gathered his brother's familiar weight against himself before gently lowering Dean to the ground. Frowning he gently slapped Dean's face hoping beyond hope for some sort of response.

"Dean?" He called softly and then cast his gaze around them looking for any threats that may have heard him. It was silent and still at the moment. His eyes dropped back to Dean.

There wasn't even a twitch of a response. A fear that was ingrained so deeply in Sam's DNA that he couldn't have ignored it even if he'd wanted to set in. He'd been here before, holding his brother and looking desperately for some inkling that Dean could hear him.

Once again the memories of Dean's Hellhound ravaged body played out inside his head. _Oh God, Dean I can't do this again._ The words remained locked inside Sam's mind, but they were clear enough to send a bolt of panic racing through him. His hands trembled as he laid them against his brother's neck seeking the calming thump of a pulse. Just before he made contact he wondered if Dean would even have a pulse in his current supernatural condition. _Jesus I sure hope so._ He thought silently.

"Come on Dean. Don't do this. I just got you back man." Sam could feel the burn behind his eyes and the welling of all the emotions he didn't want to feel again. He'd already been through this once and it had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to survive. If anyone had bother to ask him years ago if he'd be half a person without his snarky older brother he would have laughed in their face. Hell without Dean dogging his every step Sam would probably be loving some apple pie life with a dog and a picket fence. And yet when he'd been faced with his older brother's death, Sam had fractured in ways that would never fully heal. He wasn't the same person he'd been before the Hellhound attack; it had taken some time but eventually he'd come to terms with the fact that he would never be that person again.

His heart lurched when he felt the irregular beats beneath his questing fingers. His blurry vision drifted down again, "Dean, please…" his words trailed off as his throat tightened painfully.

When Sam had stepped out of that tree line he'd seen Dean go rigid, like he was being electrocuted or something. For a moment Sam couldn't even respond he was so shocked. But that quickly bled into real concern and fear that he was going to lose Dean again. Suddenly he didn't care _what_ version of his brother he had back, he just knew he had to keep this one.

Carefully he lifted himself to his feet before leaning forward and unlocking the Impala. Sam turned and stared down at the unconscious body of his only remaining family. He was surprised when he didn't see some hybrid of a demon and an angel, only his brother. The same brother that had raised him from the age of six months until Sam had stormed out that motel room in Colorado after a nasty and heated fight with their father when he'd been seventeen. He hadn't even told Dean goodbye that night, not really. Sam had just thrown his few belongings into a black trash bag and run away from the life he'd never wanted live.

To his ever-living shame, he remembered hearing Dean calling out to him desperately, but Sam was so angry with their father and the fact that his older brother always took the old man's side that he'd wanted to hurt Dean in that moment. _And I did. Oh God Dean, I never meant to truly hurt you._

Swallowing his self-pity, Sam carefully lifted Dean's upper body to allow him to get his forearms under Dean's arms and haul him up and into the backseat. He'd forgotten how solidly heavy his brother was, with a grunt he managed to settle the boneless mass on the supple leather before hurrying to the driver side door.

He had no idea where he was going. But Sam was smart enough to know that they couldn't stay out in the open like this. Whatever Dean had done to his ribs it had been an effort to hide their location. So it was wise to consider that as soon as whatever was hunting Dean knew it had lost its GPS, it would retrace any previous steps. Sam had no intention of being around when it did.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel stared at the spot where both of the Winchesters had been standing a few hours earlier. A part of him was irritated with his own lack of knowledge about the duplicitous little creations of his father. The angel was thousands of years old and yet he'd fallen victim to his own hubris. Because he was an angel, he'd believed that he was smarter than a pair of very human hunters. _Even if one is a hybrid balancing a thin line between angels and demons._ While he was frustrated with the outcome, a small part of him admired the tenacity. A larger part of him wanted to rip out Winchester's sticky bits, but Castiel could control that vengeful part.

It wasn't often that another being got the jump on him and he didn't like it, not one little bit. And now he was two steps behind the brothers and one step ahead of the powers of both heaven and hell. He'd reached out to his brothers and sisters in heaven, but no one could track the combined powers of Dean Winchester. For a while they had been able to track the younger one, Sam. But that too had disappeared several hours ago. His superiors were not going to be happy with him. Not at all.

Castiel wasn't very high on the celestial chain of command. However he was very old. He'd been around since the inception of the earth itself, though he'd never really interacted with humans. He did have one thing going for him, he hadn't been lying when he'd expressed the gravity of the situation that Dean and Sam now found themselves in. Dean didn't know that Castiel had kept some of his cards hidden.

Zachariah had it in for the older Winchester and that was not a list to be on. The elder angel was vengeful and lied as though it had been written into his very essence. Castiel didn't much care for him, but Zachariah was higher in the chain of command so that meant obeying his orders whether or not he agreed with them.

To some degree Castiel could understand the elder angel's anger, Dean had humiliated him and Zachariah would ensure that the human was severely punished for that. He shuddered as he considered what that might entail. Demons weren't the only ones that knew how to torture a soul and angels had been at it since the dawn of time.

He shook his head and tried to decide what his next move should be. A sudden flutter near him pulled his gaze in that direction. Upon recognizing the power of an archangel he sighed, "Uriel." Was all he said, the emotion wiped from his voice as he waited for a response.

The archangel was wearing a strong African American man in his late forties. Castiel could see that the host was a prime representation of human males. He seemed to exude the kind of power that would certainly attract an archangel. "Castiel." His gaze took in the empty area surrounding them, "I had assumed you could capture one fallible human." He spread his arms out indicating that they were alone. "I see I was misguided."

The younger angel turned irritated blue eyes toward the more powerful archangel. "The hybrid showed up." It wasn't really an excuse, it was simply a fact that had prevented him from acquiring the youngest Winchester as planned.

Uriel's brown eyes snapped up to meet Castiel's impassive gaze. "Then I should be looking at the traitor and the younger Winchester boy. So why am I only looking at you?" His deep baritone was angry as he spat the words out.

"The hybrid is—" Castiel started to speak but found himself silenced as he was interrupted.

"I don't want excuses Castiel. I want results. Find them. Bring Sam Winchester to me." He stepped closer to the dark haired angel. "His brother will follow." A muscle in Uriel's cheek jumped as he clenched his teeth.

Swallowing the response balanced on the tip of his tongue, Castiel merely nodded. It was not a good idea to tangle with one of the archangels. They weren't particularly interested in anything outside of their own elite class. And to be perfectly honest, Uriel was a dick. "I will find them." He promised just as the other angel vanished in a flutter of wings.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam glanced over the back of his seat. Dean was lying in the same position as when he'd been placed on the leather several hours earlier. He blew out a frustrated breath and continued to drive. He didn't have a destination in mind. Sam just knew that he needed to get as far away from that place as he could.

His mind shifted back to the dreams he'd suffered from during those first months Dean had been gone. _Dead. He was full on dead Sam. Just admit it._ His throat tightened as fresh pain washed through him. The crystal clear vision of his brother's soul hanging like a suspended carcass over the depths of hell wasn't something he'd ever be forgetting. His stomach twisted at the fear and pain that had rolled off Dean. It had been so palpable that Sam could feel every emotion as clearly as if they'd been his own.

Staring out at the dark highway he watched as the yellow dotted lines flashed past in an endless parade of sunny color. There were lights in the distance, probably a small town or gas station. He pulled in another long breath. The sudden blinding pain nearly split his head wide open and let go of the steering wheel when his muscles rebelled. Sam's vision narrowed dangerously and he grabbed at his skull as the shooting bolts bounced around just behind his eyes.

He never saw the deer that leapt out of the darkness and froze directly in the path of the Impala's headlights. In fact, Sam barely felt it as the car slammed into the animal and careened off the side of the road before bouncing down a steep hill and finally crashing into a small but deep river. The momentum that had pushed the solid metal vehicle dissipated when the car slammed to sudden and deadly stop. The embankment crunched and folded the front end of Dean's beloved car.

His pain was so blinding that the youngest Winchester didn't feel his collarbone give way beneath the unforgiving nylon of his seatbelt. He never felt the white agony as his forehead smashed into the top of the steering wheel and a splash of red immediately dyed the tan colored dashboard. His body had settled brokenly against the intact restraints. Though his breathing was labored and wheezy as he struggled to pull in the required oxygen in an autonomic response.

Water rushed up over the hood of the jet black car finding all the cracks in the glass of the front windshield and then squeezing through it to begin gathering in a steadily rising pool at Sam's motionless feet.

Dean hadn't escaped unscathed either. He had been tossed around like a rag doll, his body had finally rolled onto the floor in the backseat with his left arm twisted under him at an unnatural angle that left no doubt it was broken. His face was covered in tiny scratches and one long gash along his right eyebrow from the shattering glass. Water quickly spread under the front seat, soaking the tan carpet before crawling toward Dean's downturned nose. Small ripples from his breathing pushed the water back only to have it immediately pulled forward again in a sick parody of ocean tides.

The tire marks on the road were nearly invisible due to the tall grass and wet conditions. The mangled body of the deer lay some thirty feet away at the end of a bloody trail. Rain began falling in light droplets before increasing to a steady pounding that quickly washed the blood and tire marks away. Thunder cracked overhead and bright flashes of lightening spread across the angry skyline in a spiderweb of blue light.

Neither of the Winchester brothers twitched so much as a muscle at the booming sound. They never noticed that the water levels were steadily rising both in the rapidly swelling river and inside the gnarled and twisted metal of the Impala.

A pair of shoes sloshed through the storm in the direction of the car wreck.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you can spare the time. Thank you for reading.**

 **Author's Note:** _I won't leave you hanging for long. Should have the next chapter up tomorrow. It's going to be a bumpy ride going forward._


	7. Bound

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 7**

 _Bound_

The sheriff pointed his flashlight toward the rapidly disappearing tire tracks, shaking his head he knew this wasn't going to end well. He'd called in the accident the minute he'd figured out that that's what he was dealing with. The whir of his red and blue lights cast an ominous glow around him as the storm settled in to wallop the sleepy little town. Whoever was in that car was going to need medical attention and they were quickly running out of time. He jammed his round patrol hat down on his head and shoved his door open. Immediately the wind was beating him with no mercy.

He slipped down the steep decline until his boot sloshed into the swollen river's edge. This was a bad stretch of highway on a good night; and this definitely wasn't a good night. The animals were constantly moving across the road in search of the river water at the base of the deep ravine.

His flashlight reflected a metallic gleam just up from where he was standing. "Damn." With a shake of his head he pulled his radio toward his mouth and called for Jimmy's truck and haul. Might as well get everything rolling. A crack of lightening lit up the sky and he ducked instinctively but not before he saw the precarious position of the black car. "Oh hell." He mumbled as he steadied himself and waded down into the water.

Knocking on the car as he closed the distance he prayed that the occupants were still alive. It had been an unusually wet summer and the fall was starting out the same way. Most of the small tributaries and streams were still flowing at max capacity so this much rain wouldn't be doing anyone any favors.

Grabbing onto the twisted metal of the back window he pulled himself close and peered inside. Sucking in his breath at the two bodies he quickly gaged which one was in more danger. The water had risen up over the nose of the guy in the back so that had to be his first priority. The law officer shoved his flashlight into to his mouth and began pulling himself up onto the slippery trunk of the car. The back doors were mangled and he wasn't getting them open without the help of the fire department so his only option was to slip through the back window.

The nightstick on his belt caught on the edges of the frame as he tried to wriggle through the opening. He was being pelted due to the rain that still fell in thick sheets and it wasn't likely to get better any time soon. Carefully he lowered himself onto the seat and reached down turning the guy over. Whoever this was they were young. He hated these types of accidents. They almost always involved alcohol or drugs. And the outcome was rarely in the favor of the dumb kids out partying. Guy seemed to be fairly okay judging by the lack of injuries, just some small scratches and one that would need stitches, but overall not as bad as the sheriff had expected.

With a grunt he managed to get the guy hauled upright and slumped against the rear passenger door. Reaching up he wiped at his eyes, either the rain or the sweat causing them to sting as he did. The round brim of his patrol hat wasn't helping a whole lot with the pouring rain. Turning he knelt so that he could check on the driver. _Ah hell, this kid's even younger than that one._ He hoped that they had identification so that their parents could at least be notified. That was one of the worst parts about his job, notifying parents of the tragic consequences of youthful mistakes. Inhaling deeply he laid his fingers against the kid's neck.

He thought he felt something flutter under his fingertips as a strong gust of wind rocked the car, knocking away. "Shit." The first victim lolled over again. Quickly switching patients he again lifted and positioned the guy. "You gotta work with me kid." He admonished before turning back to the front seat. "Your buddy here is pretty bad."

Reaching over he carefully depressed the lever on the old seatbelt system; the whistling winds nearly drown out the soft 'click' as the metal slid apart. One thing about these old cars, they were built to take a hit. Generally classic cars could be salvaged even if the owners could not. _Don't think like that._ He lifted the kid's arm and laid the bloodstained nylon along his left side. With a silent prayer he tried for the pulse again. What felt like years went by before he felt a light "thump", nodding the sheriff quickly took stock of the boy's condition. He had a nasty gash on his head and his right shoulder was listing in way that suggested it was either a broken shoulder or smashed ribs; possibly both.

Just as he started to shift the driver he felt the entire back end of the car drop at least a foot, it began to float. The screeching whine of the metal told the sheriff all he needed to know; quickly he kicked open the front passenger door and wrapped his arms around the kid. Looked like he was only saving one of these boys today. With groan of disappointment he shoved away from the car as the front end creaked before finally breaking loose from the rapidly disappearing embankment.

Water pulled at the listless body making it difficult to maneuver toward the other side. The howling winds plucked his hat from his head tossing it in the direction of the rapidly disappearing car. Failure lurched through the lawman. He'd been at this for too long not to know that he'd just signed that guy's death certificate. Slowly, he managed to pull the lanky youth out of the raging river. _This kid is a lot heavier than he looks._ Stumbling backwards he was surprised when his feet slipped out from under him and he landed on his ass with a squelch.

Mud seeped between his legs as he struggled to pull both of them a bit further up. He looked up over his head relief sweeping through him at the sight of bouncing flashlights and loud hollering. He wished with all his heart that they'd been just two minutes earlier. Maybe that way he wouldn't have to inform the surviving victim that their friend hadn't made it.

A soft groan from the kid in his arms spurred him into action. He gently slipped out from behind the boy and carefully laid him flat allowing his shoulder to remain as motionless as possible. "You're going to be okay kid. We've got you." He hoped that his reassurance would penetrate the possible concussion that had probably sent this guy into unconsciousness.

"D'n…" the word was broken and muttered so softly that the sheriff nearly missed it. The ambulance arrived before he could question any further and within minutes paramedics were scrambling down the ravine with two other deputies in tow.

"We're here!" He cried desperately when they stopped and scanned the darkness. Within moments the boy had been wrapped in a c-collar and strapped to a backboard before he was carefully hauled up the steep muddy hill.

"Sheriff Collier, you okay?" A short stout deputy asked as he handed his boss another flashlight.

Collier had been so intent on saving the crash victims that he hadn't even noticed he'd dropped it. "I lost one of them." He answered softly. Turning he tried to see if the car had lodged somewhere close, it hadn't. A lightening strike hit the ground less than fifty feet from where they were standing and he knew it was too dangerous to search until the storm passed, but his feet remained routed to his spot.

"We have to go sir." The young man frantically pulled at the sheriff's coat sleeve. "News said this storm is going to get worse before it gets better."

Reluctantly Collier allowed himself to be directed up toward the waiting cruiser and the medical help. A shiver bolted down his spine at the thought of the other guy out here to die. Somehow he knew that this was going to be a bad one. His eyes flickered toward the retreating lights of the first ambulance; telling this kid that his passenger hadn't made it was going to be one of the top five worst notifications he'd made throughout his career. Because this time he'd left the other person die to save this kid and he no idea why seemed significant.

Swallowing, he trudged toward his vehicle as another crack of thunder boomed overhead. _Bad day to be on the road fellas._

SPN SPN SPN

The rocking motion was so unlike anything that passed for normal in his fucked up life that it forced his battered mind back into the present. His head was splitting, and he was soaking wet. _Wait why am I wet?_ His eyelids refused to split apart and his left arm burned with white-hot fire. He tried to remember what had happened, everything was so jumbled up that he had no idea where to start.

Something cracked and he was thrown forward. Lifting his arms to protect his face he nearly bit through his lower lip when his injured left arm smashed into something metallic. An involuntary gasp of pain slipped out before he could bite it back. Water splashed into his face dissolving whatever had glued his eyes together. Another crash and he was slammed backwards. That seemed to knock his senses back into place and a bolt of fear gutted him.

"SAMMY!" he cried as though his soul was being ripped apart again. That brought on a wash of blurry memories and an overwhelming sense of failure when his only answer was another crack of… _thunder._ With a bellow of rage he flung his arms out and whatever he was inside of blew apart. The sudden lack of support had him dropping into a river. The shock of the cold water forced the air from his lungs as his head dipped beneath the turbulent whitecaps.

His fear for Sam increased exponentially building into a surge of power that launched him from the river like a rocket. The energy dissipated and he landed in a heap as another flash of lightening flared directly overhead. Shaking his head, Dean tried to balance what had been downloaded into his skull by that damn reaper and the person he used to be. It hurt, a lot.

With an effort he buried what she'd shown him, he had to clear his muzzy brain. Mud seeped into his mouth as he lay on the banks of the river just trying to breathe. The rain pelted his outstretched body in driving sheets of a thousand needles. Groaning he pulled his arms in and tried haul his body up onto his knees. He'd barely put any pressure on the left arm when it gave out and he dropped back into the mud. Blind fury raged through him at the failed attempt; he gathered every ounce of _Winchester_ still left in his blood; it burst out of him like a bolt of lightning. Suddenly he was on his feet, though he was still unsteady and the pain was excruciating. Turning his eyes widened as he saw the Impala disappear over a waterfall.

"SAM!" he cried again, surging forward only to be stopped by a flash of lightening so strong he was forced to swing away from the intense light and the radiating waves of heat. "Son of a bitch!"

Dean tried to tap into the power he suspected was inside him; his entire left side burned in agony as a result. "Ahhh…" But through his mind-numbing pain he felt a slight stirring of something distinctly human, and familiar. _Sam._ Closing his mind to everything else Dean focused on that pulsing link between them. It was faint, blinking in and out almost like Sam was fading away. Fury drove his next decision and with a soul splitting cry of pain he was instantly inside a hospital, his head splitting so badly his vision sparked at the edges as he stumbled.

Memories of those times when Alistair had scooped his eyes from his head couldn't hold a candle what he was feeling now.

Dropping to his knees in the emergency room Dean pitched forward as consciousness fled and he was reminded that the cuff on his left wrist still bound his soul. The last word on his lips was a barely audible whisper that sounded suspiciously like his brother's name.

SPN SPN SPN

A surge of power blew past Castiel like a tornado, and it was laced with the essence of Dean Winchester. He cast his consciousness out searching for the source; it only took a fraction of heartbeat for him to find the fractured soul. The angel sent his corporeal form to the epicenter of the power before blurring himself to avoid unwanted questions. Humans were so touchy when it came to things they didn't understand.

He walked through the hallway following the fading trail of the traitor. Rushing doctors and nurses flew past him in both directions muttering about different patients. A smell that he didn't like flooded his nose and he wrinkled it in distaste. The angel had never been fond of these institutions, too many people with too many prayers that couldn't be answered. They bombarded his angelic grace tearing away at his ability to focus on the mission.

"Guy's license says his name is Sam Winchester."

The feminine voice caught his attention and he turned to follow her as she hurried toward a room at the end of the hall. She walked into room 223, grabbing the medical chart as she did. Castiel stepped up to the open door and stopped at what he saw. The younger Winchester brother was hooked up to several machines, leads connecting him to everything from a ventilator to a heart monitor. His face was bruised and a long series of bandages ran from his hairline to the opposite eyebrow.

The nurse finished writing in the chart and replaced it in a silver holder before walking out of the room and softly leaning the door shut. Castiel tilted his head to the side taking in the condition of Sam Winchester. Shaking his head he knew that Dean was going to be seriously pissed when he saw this. While he wanted to haul that traitor back to heaven for questioning, a part of him wondered about the relationship between these two brothers. A small portion of their combined destinies had been revealed to him before he'd been sent to hell. The Winchesters were part of something cosmically bigger than themselves and they were only just figuring that out.

The small white machine next to the bed began a steady whine and Castiel heard pounding feet headed toward the door. With a thought he flipped the lock on the door, he couldn't risk being disturbed at the moment. What he was about to do took a massive amount of concentration and humans were incredibly loud when they were upset. Crossing the floor to the bed he reached out placing two fingers on Sam's forehead.

As his power flowed along the boy's body the angel could see the internal damage that had been done. A small cerebral hemorrhage at the front of the cortex was building pressure that the medical staff hadn't identified yet; left unchecked it would eventually kill Sam Winchester. That wouldn't be a very good idea for any of them. The older brother had already proven to what lengths he would go to save this young man, so under the circumstances it was in heaven's best interest if he lived.

Power stitched the broken skull back together before relieving the pressure of the bleed. Castiel ignored the pounding on the door as he sent his grace deeper. The collarbone was broken, but that would heal without his intervention, Sam had a few minor bleeds internally that the angel quickly mended before pulling his power back into himself. The steady whine of the machine broke off, replaced by a rhythmic bleep that indicated the return of a normal heartbeat.

Narrowing his eyes he stepped away from the bed as Sam moaned and eyelids fluttered. Castiel reached out seeking the older brother. He knew that Dean was here; he just didn't know where he was at this particular moment. The power burst had been quick and the angel hadn't felt anything from the hybrid since then. He knew that Dean couldn't be dead, _that_ he would have felt radiate through the cosmos. But neither could he pinpoint the whereabouts of the other Winchester boy.

He made a quick decision to remain close to the younger brother. That was the only way he was going to catch up with the other one. One last slam against the door by the people in the hallway sent the heavy wooden door crashing inward. Agitated people rushed into the room only to find it empty other than the patient.

"What the hell?" One of the orderlies asked as he scratched his head in confusion.

A soft moan of confusion redirected the medical staff's attention as Sam came suddenly and fully awake, his eyes wary and darting around the room as though he was searching for something.

Sheriff Collier happened into the room at that precise moment. He was relieved and little nervous that his rescue from earlier appeared to be awake and lucid. When he'd seen the extent of the kid's injuries the sheriff had assumed this whole night would have a very different outcome. For once he was delighted to be proven wrong, at least until the kid spoke.

"My brother?" he rasped out, his gaze spinning wildly as he struggled to get out bed. The monitors all went off at the same time as he pulled the leads from their various positions on his body.

"Whoa, slow down kid. You were in an accident." Sheriff Collier quickly moved to the edge of the bed and pushed Sam back into the white cotton sheets. It was little disconcerting how easy it was to overpower the frantic struggles and the lawman felt a pang of regret that he had to tell this kid his brother was likely dead.

Sam struggled weakly against the hand holding him down, "Please, I gotta find my brother."

It was heartbreaking to watch the fear and confusion war for dominance in the young man's eyes.

"Was he in the car with you?"

A slight nod was all Sam could manage.

The sheriff inhaled sharply before lifting his hand from Sam's chest. "I'm sorry son, but the car wound up in the river and…" he trailed off allowing that news to sink in.

A myriad of emotions flitted across the face of the man in the bed denial, anger and finally a devastation that was deep is actually hurt to witness.

Slowly Sam started to shake his head, the speed increasing until he was nearly vibrating with the energy. "He can't be gone."

"We'll keep searching the riverbanks for any sign of the car or your brother." The sheriff didn't look any happier about his news than the patient forced to listen.

Sam blinked slowly as tears welled in his expressive eyes and his heart clenched with new loss. His gaze flicked from the lawman to the nurses and doctor standing frozen in the doorway. The doctor tilted his head toward the hallway and the sheriff nodded before following him out, leaving Sam alone. A gurgled sob erupted from somewhere so deep inside him that he shook from it.

"You can't be gone." He whispered brokenly.

SPN SPN SPN

The angel listened and watched the entire scene in silence. He was surprised by the strength of Sam's reaction to the possibility of losing his brother again. While he'd known that the Winchester brothers were close, he not anticipated such an emotional reaction. Dean was a demon. The fact that he also had angelic grace coursing through him didn't erase that fact and Sam should have been relieved to be free of him. But that was far from the emotions radiating from the younger brother, he was devastated; his soul cracking under the weight of it. For some reason that resinated with the angel. If Sam could feel such a connection with a being as broken as Dean, the was it possible that he could still be saved? Castiel didn't know for sure, but he was going to find out. He would not be the spear of his brother's hatred for the older brother, for the first time in his existence the angel would make up his own mind. With that thought he disappeared from the dark corner of the room.

Sam's glassy eyes shot up, he stared at the far side of his room where the bathroom hid a corner from his view. When nothing jumped out at him he allowed his eyes to dropped back to his lap. None of this mattered without Dean; none of it.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're enjoying the direction of the story. Thank you for reading.**

 **Author's Note:** _Because cliffhangers suck, here's a new chapter._


	8. Reflection

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 8**

 _Reflection_

Muffled voices grew louder as consciousness slowly returned, with that a pounding inside his head battered at his desire to allow it. Dean twitched, his shoulder smacking against something solid, panic flared when he realized that he was confined inside something. Voices seemed to drift away as pain reminded him that definitely wasn't dead; at least he wasn't _still_ dead.

The entire left side of his body burned like it was on fire and his head was still pounding like a stampede at a rodeo. Struggling up out his own mind he buried the pain long enough to reach out, the questing fingers of his right hand slid along cold unforgiving steel. _No. No. No. No._ The word repeated over and over inside his head, like a mantra he was willing his brain to accept.

 _Sam's face flashed in front of his eyes, except it wasn't his_ Sam' _s face. This one was older, more world weary but still in possession of the puppy-dog eyes that had eroded Dean's better judgment on more than one occasion. It was the little things he saw first, his brother's face was thinner, more rugged and his body lithe and lean._ A little too lean for Dean's comfort. _It was obvious that Sam had kept up his training regime. The broken look in Sam's eyes was something only the ravages of time and loos could do._

 _Sam was seated on the front porch of a small pale yellow house complete with a short white picket fence; he even had a beer in his hand. An unseen dog barked before bounding up the front and plopping itself in front of Sam, an expectant tilt to its head. Obviously this was something they did often, the pooch was waiting for a reward. His brother smiled and reached out, scratching behind the dog's left ear. The sad smile slipped from Sam's face and he lifted the sweating beer then tilted to the horizon in a solute._

" _Miss you big brother." He muttered before taking a long draw. He and the dog sat next to one another, staring into distance for a long time._

 _After what felt like years an SUV pulled into the driveway. A dark-haired woman stepped out, immediately the dog barked and bounced toward her. Sam didn't move from his spot on the porch, but he did lift his eyes. Whatever she saw there prompted her to walk over and set her purse on the step at her feet before sinking down next to him. She didn't say anything for a long time; they simply sat in companionable silence._

 _Finally she asked, "Bad one today." It wasn't a question._

 _Sam swallowed another swig of his beer, his hand shaking slightly as he did. She laid her slim fingers on his knee and leaned her head on his shoulder. The contact was weird for Dean to watch. He'd known that Sam had had a life with Jessica before he'd come and pulled his brother back into this life, but he hadn't ever seen what that might have looked like. It was peaceful. Something Winchesters rarely experienced, and Dean had torn that away from his brother._

 _It hurt to watch Sam's perfectly normal life; one that obviously didn't include him. Dean had no idea what had happened to him, maybe in this life he hadn't escaped from hell and his brother had done the only thing he could, survive._

 _Sam's throat bobbed with suppressed emotions, "It's been one year today since he disappeared."_

 _Sensing his mood, she nodded in understanding and gently squeezed his knee before standing up and going into the house. The dog barked once and padded in after her, the front door shut with a soft 'snict', and Sam was alone again._

 _Dean watched silently while Sam finished his beer, setting it aside, but remained on the porch staring into the slowly setting sun. It was sad watching his brother sit there surrounded by his grief. Dean wondered what_ he _had been doing since_ he _knew_ he _wasn't dead._

 _Instantly he was standing in a forest, the night dark and cold. A light frost was hanging in the air, settling on huge trees and the forest floor. He felt the power before he saw it. A rift of light ripped through the space in front of him and a much older version of himself stumbled through. This Dean was wrapped in a cloak of violence. It nearly vibrated off him. Without understanding how he knew, he did_ know _that he'd been in purgatory for the last year. He'd spent that time fighting to get back to Sam. A vampire named Benny was inserted into Dean's memories and he understood the bond that had formed between them. It was a bond that he'd only ever shared with Sam and Castiel. It was born of desperation, fear, violence and love._

 _That's right, he'd been friends with the trench coat sporting angel of the lord._

The feeling of being compressed from the outside hauled his wayward consciousness back and he tried to roll over. The cold surface and his feeling of confinement could only mean that he was trapped inside something. His mind threw in the memory of his pine box for good measure and he gulped back the remembered fear. His fist busting through the top of the box only to have the rancid dirt hit him in the face momentarily blinding him.

Prior to his burial Dean hadn't been claustrophobic, that was no longer the case. _Great, I'm some sort of demon-angel that's afraid of the dark. That's just peachy._ He thought with irritation.

Emotion was slowly working its way back into him, the longer he was topside the more human he felt. He wasn't sure if that was the damn reapers fault or if it was because of something else. Either way, the more of his humanity that seeped back into his black soul the less focused he became. It felt like having his essence pulled apart on an atomic level and then reassembled, wrong.

He was desperate to find Sam; momentarily he considered reaching out with his mind again. Dean thought better of it when he considered how much it had hurt the last time, but even beyond that was the fact that that was how he'd wound up where he is and not where _Sam_ is.

Inhaling against the pain his action would cause, he kicked out with his feet. The end burst outward landing with a metallic clunk several feet away. Using his right arm he pushed above his head and whatever he was lying on slid into the dimly lit room. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted and then he furrowed his eyebrows as the room came into sharp focus.

 _A morgue? Son of a bitch I'm in the morgue. That can't be good._ He slowly forced his body into an upright position and then slid off the body tray. His left arm was all but useless as he struggled to balance himself. The pain that rippled up and down that side of his body was excruciating. Only his time in hell had prepared him to work through the incredible agony, but not before his knees started to buckle and he had to catch himself on the side of the table.

Ignoring the left side completely he forced his disobedient body back onto unsteady feet and turned toward the door. _Have to get to Sammy._ As soon as he pushed open the solid piece of wood he realized that he was still in the hospital. Glancing over at his charred and bloody left arm he knew he wouldn't get far without some _human_ intercepting him. They would offer help that they wouldn't be able to render and Dean couldn't afford the time to explain that to them. So he grabbed a white sheet and pulled it free of the examination table. Beneath it was the body of an old man. There were no wounds or supernatural marks on him; he'd died of natural causes. _Wouldn't that be nice._

Dean threw the sheet over his mangled and charred arm, briefly wondering what it would feel like to live a long life surrounded by loved ones. Shoving that thought away he turned and stumbled out into a vacant hallway. The smell of death and formaldehyde was pungent and invaded his senses. The walls were washed white in that sterile hospital way. He'd never understood why, if medical institutions wanted to entice people into being comfortable shouldn't they have picked a _happier_ color? _Yellow maybe or light blue._ Shaking his head he started moving.

A wave of dizziness washed over him and almost immediately he sagging heavily against the wall. Dean tried to focus the power inside him, but every time he attempted to access it the cuff scalded him and he was forced to abandon the attempt. He had to say one thing for the angels, they'd built a far better way to disconnect him from his power than the demons ever had.

His booted feet shuffled along even when the hallway started to narrow dangerously and Dean knew he was on the verge of passing out. For some reason he'd though that being what he was would preclude him from the weaknesses of the flesh; it didn't. He was every bit as vulnerable now as he'd been when he was still 100% human.

 _So much for the power of the cosmos._

He remained silent and using that stubborn Winchester will; he managed to stave off the spinning world around him. Glancing up he saw the double doors that led into the main part of the hospital. The only reason he was sure of that was because on the other side he could see nurses and people in white coats buzzing around like busy little bees. With some shock he realized that could also see his own reflection.

The eyes that stared back at him were inky black with irises of jade green. _No wonder Sammy freaked out the first time he looked at me._ But the eyes weren't what stopped him dead in his tracks. Two distinct auras pitched in and out, twining about one another like rope strands. Neither aura looked particularly healthy, the white was blinking in and out, taking on a greyish hue with streaks of red. The black aura, well that one was scary as hell to look at. Where the white one was intact, that was not the case with the black one. It was gnarled and grotesquely twisted. Blood seeped from wounds all along it; wounds Dean remembered getting long ago. His shoulder on the left side hung down like there was no joint, the muscles atrophied from disuse, a large hump just above it. Dean's legs were a mangled bloody mess. White bone protruded in multiple places, strands of muscle twitched uselessly. He shouldn't even be able to walk, but somehow those broken limps help him upright.

A dim spark of a long forgotten memory placed the injury. Alistair had been trying to break him with no success, so he'd decided to essentially run Dean's legs through the demon version of a wood chipper. He remembered screaming until his vocal cords had ruptured and then trying to scream some more. Alistair had been so pleased with the outcome that Dean had spent the next several centuries having his lower half chopped up like splintered wood. His gaze scanned the image again before he slowly dropped his eyes in shame. He didn't want to see this. He didn't want to know just how damaged he really was. _How_ was he seeing it anyway?

The angelic presence that popped up behind him had him clenching his jaw. These angel dicks just weren't going to leave him alone. He glanced up and saw his twisted reflection again, but behind it was an angel.

"Your soul." Castiel answered the unasked question.

Dean blinked and slowly turned to look at the angel. He was still wearing that stupid trench coat and blue tie. You'd think a celestial being would have better taste. If the accountant-angel was here then the others couldn't be far behind. "Where's Sam?" He hadn't really expected an answer, but he had hoped he'd get one. The angel tilted his head; stepping forward he stared silently at Dean.

It intensity of his gaze made Dean uncomfortable, "Take a picture they last longer." He ground out.

Castiel took a step back, "Sam is on the second floor, room 223."

Dean started toward the door again, "He is not in immediate danger." The angel assured. He didn't move or try to stop the injured demon-angel. "What you saw, it is your soul; _both_ halves of your soul. The soul cannot sustain both parts. Inevitably one part burns off the other. Your darkness is stronger. It is only a matter of time before the demon in you takes control and binds the angelic half."

That stopped the eldest Winchester in his place and he ground his teeth together before turning back and holding up his ravaged left arm. The angel's unearthly blue gaze dropped, but he showed no sign of reaction when he saw the arm.

"And I have every reason to believe you." Dean hissed angrily. He knew that what the angel was telling him was true, but he wasn't about to give this asshat the satisfaction of knowing that.

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed, "I have no reason to lie to you Dean Winchester."

"You have _every_ reason to lie to me. You tried to take my brother. You feathered bastards want to use him to get to me. You clapped this torture bracelet on me. Kept me from saving my brother when he was in danger. You did all of this!" His body vibrated from the intensity of his anger. The silver cuff rattled on his arm sending him to his knees as another jolt of pain went through him. Dean fell forward barely catching himself with his right arm before he face planted on the hard stone floor. Shaking he lifted his left wrist a fraction of an inch, "Take this off me, please." He hated begging it always came from a place of weakness and Dean couldn't afford weakness. Sammy couldn't afford his weakness.

The angel exhaled, "I can't." he admitted reluctantly. Castiel hadn't planned to reveal that to him, but the look in Dean's eyes made him change his answer. The angel didn't want to trick him; conversely he wanted this _hybrid_ to trust him. The angel didn't quite understand his own motives so there was no chance that he could explain them at the present time.

Dean rolled to his back and slid up against the wall for support. "What do you mean 'you can't?" Tremors running through his words gave away the amount of pain he was desperate to hide.

"Dean I never had the key. My mission was not to remove the cuffs at any point, it was only to secure them on you and return you to Zachariah and Uriel." The angel sank down next to him and Dean shifted away instinctively. "I am sorry."

The injured man's head dropped forward in defeat, "Congrats feathers, you got half of your mission accomplished." Dean shifted his weight trying to climb back to his feet unaided. "Why the hell are you here?" he asked tiredly.

Sighing, Castiel turned, "I do not think my brothers can save mankind from what is coming." He shoved himself upright and carefully grabbed under Dean's right arm taking most of his weight. "I believe that you can."

TBC…

 **Please leave a review. It's always nice to know people are reading your words. Thank you to readers that have sent reviews back. I greatly appreciate the responses.**

 **Author's Note:** _This re-write has more and more deviation from the original. Initially I hadn't thought it would shift this far, but I can say I am enjoying the story (as evidenced by the quick uploads of new chapters)._


	9. Nightmare

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 9**

 _Nightmare_

Dean turned his strange eyes on the angel. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" While he wasn't exactly _grateful_ for the angel's assistance, he didn't think he could have remained upright without it.

"You are special Dean."

He snorted, "Yeah right."

Spinning around so the angel was staring directly into Dean's eyes he continued, "What's wrong?" His dark head tilted to the side as he looked for something. Narrowing his gaze he pressed his lips together. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement that Dean couldn't refute so he pulled away from the angel and moved to push the door open. This angelic _man_ was seeing far more than Dean was comfortable with. "I gotta find Sam."

SPN SPN SPN

 _Dread settled deep in the pit of his stomach, the stench of death permeated this room and he couldn't help but wonder who else had died here. Would he make it out of this alive? True to the story of his life, he'd once again trusted the wrong person. Although at the time he hadn't expected his big brother to be that person. Scratch that, Dean wasn't a 'person' anymore; he was something else, somethimg dark, something evil._

" _Did you think I'd make this easy on you Sammy?" Dean's voice was cold, no emotion, and it cut through Sam like a new razorblade. Dean stalked around the youngest Winchester; his fingers trailing along the back of Sam's neck sending a shiver of fear down his spine. "That I'd just waltz back into your life, give ya a hug, and what? Life would go back to hunting as usual? That was fucking naïve, even for you Sammy." He slid the knife up along the soft cartilage of his captive's ear._

 _Harsh ropes were digging into his wrists where Dean had bound them. He'd wrenched Sam's arms behind the chair back and lashed his legs. He'd even removed Sam's shoes, setting them aside neatly. It was an action that was so out of character that Sam couldn't reconcile it with the sloppy brother he'd grown up with. His wide eyes flickered up and what he saw forced his gaze away. He couldn't look at the massive complexity of hated virtually radiating off of Dean. And it was all being directed at him. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to push back the sting of tears. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't give this thing the satisfaction of that._

 _Suddenly his head cracked to the side, stinging pain sang along his jawline before ruthless fingers fisted into his long hair and yanked his head back exposing his neck. In all his life he'd never felt as vulnerable as he did at this moment._

" _Look at me when I talk to you." Dean hissed, running the cold silver blade along Sam's cheek. It didn't hurt at first, but then the blade began to slowly bite into the flesh, as Dean pressed hard enough for bright red blood to leave a trail._

 _Dean couldn't help the pure joy that bloomed inside his black soul st the sight._ _Watching someone suffer was like a Sunday picnic for him complete with beer and a happy ending. But oh dear God, the feeling that torturing little Sammy gave him? That was so much sweeter._

 _Ignoring the stinging pain, Sam slowly lifted his eyes; he cringed when he saw only the pure inky blackness of a demon's gaze. There was no ring of green breaking up the obsidian hatred that nearly palpated behind those demonic eyes. This wasn't his brother, not anymore. This_ thing _standing over him was what happened to a soul when it was tortured in hell fire. "What are you?" he whispered brokenly._

 _Dean smiled, leaning into Sam's ear he whispered, "What I am? I'm what they turned me into. All because of you." Pleasure radiated along every muscle as he watched those words strike at Sam's soft heart._

 _How did he answer that? Sam had no idea where to start let alone make it make sense. The loss of his brother was now so complete that he couldn't see past it. "Dean, I'm so sorry. I never meant-" he started._

" _Well of course you did mean to Sammy." Dean interrupted calmly, his hand sliding down to his brother's shoulder where he dug his fingers into the joint. "You never mean to. You didn't mean to get mom killed. You didn't mean to get dad killed either. And you sure as hell didn't mean to get me ripped open like a Christmas present. All. For. You." He punctuated the last words as he drove his unrelenting fingers deeper into the joint._

 _Fire raced along his shoulder, but it was nothing compared to the fractured feeling inside him. Sam hadn't felt this broken since the day he'd buried his big brother. Not even Jessica's death had held a candle to the sheer devastation of that day. It had been all consuming and he'd nearly buckled under the weight of it._

" _Dean." Sam muttered softly before dropping his eyes to the floor. He couldn't see his big brother this way. See the monster that Sam had turned him into. It hurt in the deep dark places of his soul in a way that eclipsed the word 'pain'._

 _Hearing his name from Sam's lips only seemed to piss off the demon more. Dean flashed forward and pulled the blade across the broad expanse of back. Sam arched away from the fire that scorched across his shoulder blades, his mouth dropping open in a silent cry of pure agony._

 _It was more than just the physical pain, it was the bone deep, and crushing weight of knowing that he was the reason his brother had become this, abomination. This wasn't his brother, not anymore. Dean had only ever wanted to 'save' people. He'd never been in this life for the violence that it demanded. He just happened to be very good at the violence. But this 'joy' that Sam could sense in his tormentor as he gleefully peeled at Sam's flesh belonged to a terrifying monster. There was nothing left of the brother that raised him. And that was perhaps the most devastating loss of all. "Sorry." He mumbled quietly._

 _Dean leaned in, allowing his warm breath to trail over Sam's quivering sweaty flesh, "Too little, too late, Sammy." The demon hissed; the silver of the blade caught the light again, only this time it pulled across the front of Sam's neck._

SPN SPN SPN

A sudden jolt went through Sam's body as he came immediately into full awareness. Something that they'd learned when they'd been kids. Their father would wake them up with 'monster' drills in the middle of the night.

"Wh…wha the…" He stuttered before he was swinging his arms out in a protective gesture. His fingers wafted through empty space and his heart hammered inside his chest. Sam felt something trickling down his neck. For a moment he thought it was the blood from his brother's blade, but when he reached up to wipe it away; it was only sweat.

 _Ah god. It was so real. He was so real._ It had been like someone reached into his head and yanked out the worst nightmare he could conceive.

Fear ping-ponged through him like electricity, heightening all his senses, and making him aware of small things. The low hum of the radiator, a rhythmic 'plop' 'plop' 'plop' of water hitting the porcelain sink in the bathroom, country music playing softly down the hall, it all grated painfully; like poking at the exposed nerve in a tooth.

His head was pounding; reaching up he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes hoping it would relieve some of the pain. Or maybe he was praying his palms would scrub the memory of his brother _joyfully_ peeling the skin from his bones out of his skull.

The nightmare warred with the recent memory of Dean's attempt to save him. Had that been his brother trying to get back into his life so he could kill him slowly? A chill washed over him and he shivered.

Save Sam from what exactly? He still didn't know what was coming after him, only that Dean had crawled out of hell to prevent it. But then again he'd just tortured Sam to death, literally.

Leaning back against the pillow he allowed his lungs to inflate slowly, focusing on slowing his heart rate to something more normal. He didn't know whom to trust. Was there anything left of the big brother that had sacrificed his eternal soul for him? Sam needed to find out because if there was even the smallest chance that this really was 'Dean', he couldn't walk away. _Even if it ends with my death._ He thought solemnly.

The clicking of the lock on his door alerted him before he saw whoever was coming through it. Sam's eyes flashed around his room looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. There was nothing. "Shit." He breathed before rolling to the left and landing in a crouch on the other side of his bed.

The door opened and he heard two distinct sets of boots shuffle to a stop. Sam tried to focus around the pounding in his head to see the shoes from under the hospital bed. One pair he would have recognized under any circumstances, the other was a pair of dark loafers. Sam didn't know anyone that wore shoes like that, so that probably didn't bode well for him.

"Sammy?" The sound of his childhood nickname sent a shiver down his spine.

He could still hear his brother's sadistic taunts as he'd torn Sam apart. On some level he understood that it had been a dream. He tried to reconcile the dream against his past ability to 'see visions of the future'; he couldn't just ignore the nightmare.

It wasn't all that different from any other nightmare he'd ever had; but it _really_ was, because this had been Dean. At his core Sam had believed that his brother would never hurt him, but he had, a lot.

"Sam Winchester?" The rough tone of the angel surprised Sam enough to slowly stand up. His gaze fell on both his brother and the angel standing stock still just inside the doorway.

Neither of them said anything. Sam blinked as his vision blurred slightly. He never saw Dean move but suddenly he was next to the bed. He didn't touch Sam, but he was there in case Sam's knees failed.

Dean looked terrible. He was wearing a sheet wrapped over his left side like some crummy frat boy. But his face, for once, was open, concern reflecting out of his black and green eyes as they rolled over Sam looking for injuries.

"You okay?" he asked.

Sam didn't know how to answer that question. He definitely wasn't 'okay', but how could he tell Dean that everything wasn't firing on all cylinders? He made a move toward the bed; Dean shifted out of the way and then narrowed his eyes as he watched Sam move stiltedly. Instinctively he started to reach out but when Sam recoiled he dropped his hand to his side.

"Whoa, hey it's just me." Dean said as he continued to search his brother's eyes.

Sam blinked slowly as he waited for his brain to sort out the dream and reality. He was breathing in sharp ragged pants, trying desperately to calm his thundering heart. He hated the sick feeling that still swirled inside his head as he waited for his eyes to focus. He sank onto the bed when the room spun. As soon as Dean's face came back into view he found himself pressing against the headboard without even thinking about it.

On some level Sam knew he was freaking out about the nightmare and that he was directing that fear at Dean, which may or may not be completely fair. Sam's wide eyes flickered in his direction, but he didn't move. He could see the concern shining just behind the black and green eyes. Something about the way he was staring at Sam made him wonder just what the demon-angel was actually thinking.

Dean watched the fear writhe inside Sam like a black snake. Something inside him twisted and shredded at the sight. He'd hoped that he was getting somewhere with his brother, but from what he was seeing that didn't appear to be the case.

The hybrid slowly back away, reaching up he scrubbed a hand down his face allowing it to drop limply to his side. The terrified look on Sam's face was now burned into his retinas. It wasn't guilt Dean was feeling so much as confusion that any of the emotions were bothering him at all. It'd been thousands of years since anything had _affected_ him, but the mere sight of his brother in pain had reduced him to a state of quivering confusion.

Sam watched as the hybrid moved away from the bedside, his expression unreadable. He wanted to follow Dean, but Sam needed to get his own emotions under control first. He was scared. He was scared of what Dean had become, of what that meant for the world, of what that meant for _them._ Sam wanted more than anything to believe that his brother was back and that they could return to the easy relationship that they'd had before. But Dean's eyes were a painful reminder that could never happen. It was painfully clear that there was no going back. What had been done to his big brother in hell, it couldn't be _undone_. And that was probably the most tragic thing about this fucked up situation.

Castiel had stayed near the door watching the entire scene with a stoic expression. He didn't offer advice or comment, he simply watched. Since the dawn of time it had been his mission to watch the Winchester line. Never in all his many years had he seen what now stood before him. Sam and Dean were special. They each carried part of the future on their shoulders, but none of that would matter if they couldn't find their way back to each other. He sensed that his interference was neither need or would be appreciated, so he remained a silent witness.

Sam stared at his brother; slowly guilt settled heavily in his mind. Lilith had done this. Azazel had done this. Hell even their father had contributed to what Dean was now. But most of all this was Sam's fault.

True, he hadn't chosen to get killed in Cold Oak, but his death had been the catalyst for everything his brother had suffered since that horrific night. His eyes shifted to where the demon-angel was standing just a few feet from the bed. Dean's head had dropped forward on his chest; his face was pinched in pain. Whatever else he was some part of him seemed to care about Sam's opinion. With great effort, he pushed the fear and guilt down and tried to focus on what he was seeing.

Things he hadn't been able to see at first became clear. A dark red stain was spreading along Dean's left side, his entire body listing against the wall he now leaned against. Sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped off his chin. But it was his brother's eyes that were keeping him from going to Dean.

Castiel's dark eyebrows drew together as he watched Sam's face. He made a decision and stepped forward, laying his hand on Dean's good shoulder. The older Winchester lurched and turned irritated eyes on the angel.

Sam's eyes went wide, "Dean, your eyes."

His brother turned to look at him before moving to the bathroom and gently pushing the door open. Inside was a small beveled mirror, inside it he saw the reflection of the tragic figure he'd become. He couldn't see past the twisted soul staring back at him. "What about my eyes?" he questioned gruffly.

Sam glanced at the angel and then back at Dean, "Can't you see it? They're different."

Looking back again Dean inhaled sharply, his eyes were now the same forest green that had stared back him his whole life. He spun toward the angel, "What did you do?" he accused.

Castiel shrugged, "Nothing really. I gave you the ability to control them. Similar to way demons and angels control who and how they reveal their truth selves. You must be able to hide among the humans."

Dean blinked, his gaze flickering to his left shoulder and he snorted. "You still have some work to do before I can pass for _normal_."

"I told you before, I cannot remove the cuff. Only my brothers have the key and there is only one in creation." He exhaled and turned toward Sam. "I am sorry."

"Yeah, you've said that before." Dean ground out.

Sam finally found his voice, "What the hell are you two talking about?" His eyes shifted between the two supernatural beings standing at the foot of his bed.

The angel shook his head, "Dean's powers are bound. Every time he attempts to access them his vessel is further damaged."

"Is it permanent?" Sam asked, looking over at the hunched form of his brother.

Dean shrugged, "Don't know." His green eyes lifted to fully meet the angel's intense blue stare, "Neither does feathers."

The angel scrunched his face in irritation, "I do not like being compared to avian."

"Like I care what you like." The flippant answer further irked the angelic being.

Blue-green eyes focused on Dean's left shoulder and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "What happens if the cuff isn't removed?"

The angel's dark head turned toward Sam, "That would not be advisable."

Dean shook his head at that, but remained silent.

Sam leaned forward, "Explain."

Blowing out an irritated breath at what he considered a waste of time, the angel continued. "The cuff acts as a restraining collar of sorts. If it is not removed Dean's vessel will be burned off and he will cease to be what he is."

"I need more." Sam breathed out softly.

The angel looked at Dean for permission before going any further. Dean glanced over at Sam. He saw only desperation to know what they were dealing with. So against his better judgment he nodded once.

"When Dean's soul was twisted in hell and the angelic grace was incorporated from the angel deal, your brother's soul was ripped into two parts. One part is the twisted tortured piece that was demonized in hell and the other part is angelic. These two forces are naturally opposing. They cannot occupy the same space for long. With the cuff in place neither half is able to exert full control over Dean's soul, which also means that your brother is literally being torn in half."

Sam's eyes were growing wider as the angel laid out what they were up against. "So take the cuff of him." The answer was so simple.

A muscle jumped in Dean's jaw and he shook his head, "He can't. Castiel is just a soldier, they don't give foot soldiers that much of heaven's power." Turning toward the angel, he continued. "That about cover it?"

"I would not put it that way. But it is true that only archangels have access to the most powerful parts of angelic grace." He didn't appear all that happy about admitting weakness in front of the brothers.

"Then what good are you?" Sam shot back without thinking. It surprised him as much as it surprised both the angel and his brother. It was the first time he felt protective since he'd driven that cross into the ground above Dean's grave.

"Sam, we can't do this without him." Dean watched this younger version of his brother struggle with that revelation. He couldn't quite merge the fractured pieces of his brother that the reaper had forced him to witness. Something had gone seriously wrong in that other future. And if he had to kill the devil himself, Dean wouldn't allow that to happen again.

Sam looked from one to the other and the back again. He finally nodded and moved to get off the bed.

"Where you going?" Dean asked, emotion colored his question.

It was the presence of the unwanted emotions that convinced Sam that maybe, just maybe he could trust his brother.

Sam's eyes glanced down at the hospital gown, then back at Dean. "Can't exactly walk out like this."

"If you did, it'd give that old nurse up front a hell of a thrill." It was such a Dean thing to say that it froze Sam in place. He turned and allowed the small smile to pull at the edges of his lips. Maybe they could come back from all of this?

A sudden realization forced him to turn back, "Wasn't the Impala wrecked? I mean I don't remember very much, but I'm pretty sure I remember that."

The angel lifted an eyebrow and snapped his fingers. Both brothers glanced around the hospital room, nothing had changed.

Dean lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers sarcastically, "That supposed to do something?"

"Yes." The angel answered before turning toward the door.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam kept looking over at where his brother slumped against the passenger door. The angel was sitting quietly in the backseat, his gaze trained in front of the car as they rumbled down the road. Dean was shivering; sweat rolled down his face and soaked into the collar of his t-shirt. His eyes were shut and his breathing had a wheezy quality to it.

"Dean, you okay?"

Glistening green eyes turned in his direction, "Peachy."

Swallowing his irritation at the sarcastic answer, Sam glanced in the rearview mirror. "What now?"

The angel shrugged.

"You know what? You two deserve each other." Sam groused.

Two sets of annoyed eyes turned in his direction. Dean shifted, his face pinching in pain as he did. "That sounded vaguely dirty Sammy. You wanna reword that?"

"No. Not really. I swear talking to you guys is like talking to a dummy." He realized what he'd said and pressed his lips together to keep from saying anything else.

"Now, that's not very nice." Dean said before shifting down in his seat.

It wasn't the fight that Sam had anticipated with his misplaced words. Dean's lack of response was another reminder of how much pain he must be in. His brother never backed down from a bated argument. Hell, that's what had gotten him tortured by the yellow-eyed demon. The remembered image of thick red blood oozing out of Dean's chest sent a burst of regret coursing through Sam.

The headlights of the Impala lit up both sides of road despite the pouring rain. Bright flashes of lightening flickered behind them before crackling across the sky. Thunder boomed a moment later and Castiel's eyes widened.

He looked over his shoulder, then back at the Winchesters.

Dean lifted his head, his own eyes growing wider by the second. Glancing into the mirror he saw the focused blue gaze staring silently at him. Neither of them said a word, but suddenly the angel disappeared from the backseat.

Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed harder on the gas pedal. "What the hell is going on?"

"They found us."

"Who?"

He saw Dean force down whatever pain he was in, is expression shifting to one of tired frustration. "Everyone."

TBC…

 **Please leave a review. It's the only gratification writers get.**

 **Author's Note:** _For those who reviewed the last chapter, I thank you._


	10. Betrayed

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 10**

 _Betrayed_

A bolt of lightening crackled across the horizon before striking the road directly in front of the Impala. Sam jerked the wheel to avoid the smoldering pothole that would have swallowed both front tires. He'd barely regained control when another bolt forced him to veer off the road. Sam cringed when he felt the vehicle skid along the gravel and slide to a stop. He hazarded a look at his brother and frowned when he didn't see any reaction to his treatment Dean's beloved Impala. _Things are still so different._ He thought sadly.

Dean did swear when he was tossed against the passenger door jarring his entire body painfully. "Son of a bitch." He moaned as his right hand instinctively grabbed onto the door handle and he reached out to hold his brother back without thinking.

A grunt from Sam's seat at least informed him that they were both still conscious, so yeah, that was something. Ignoring his pain, he focused on what was happening to him. Dean could feel the darkness writhing inside him, he didn't know if it was 'his' soul, the 'demon' soul or that damn angelic grace; the only thing he did know was that he couldn't control whatever it was. He glanced over at his brother, Sam was breathing hard but he didn't appear to be hurt.

Ocean colored eyes turned toward him, "Seatbelt." Sam reminded him breathily.

The Impala jolted as bolt after bolt struck the ground surrounding the car, it vibrated with the power that coursed under the rubber tires. Trees splintered as tendrils of lightening smashed into them and the wind howled through the forest around them. Three sets of eyes spun as the storm raged full force in every direction they looked.

"They are here." Castiel closed his eyes and reached out with his grace, hoping that his brothers would sense his presence and stop this attack. He was surprised when his grace slammed into a solid celestial wall that he couldn't find a crack in. Frowning he leaned forward, "They are blocking me. "

Dean turned, "Wait your brothers are making you limp?"

"I do not understand that reference." The angel replied with irritation.

"Could you two just stop? In case you haven't noticed the sky is currently trying to kill us." Sam grunted as another blast of wind rocked the car. His face screwed up into a worried expression that reminded Dean of a memory. He couldn't quite place it, maybe it was something else that reaper bitch Billy had done to him. Grinding his teeth together he shoved his frustration down and pressed his left arm into the leather seat, the shock of pain re-centered his drifting attention just as everything died, the wind, the lightening, the car, everything.

Two angels materialized from the darkness, their vessels becoming clearer as they approached. Dean could sense the magnitude of the power pulsing around them; the buzz of their grace was far more than his current angel _buddy cop_ possessed _._ _Which means these are probably archangels._ He knew from his limited experiences with the executive douchebags of Heaven that they 'smite first and ask questions later'. His gaze slid over to Sam and his insides went cold at the thought of them getting their hands on him.

"What the hell do they want?" There was no doubt who his question was aimed at, but Dean pinned the angel with his gaze anyway.

Castiel's eyebrows shot up when he couldn't answer the question, "I do not know. "

Screeching metal interrupted them when the door was ripped from its hinges and tossed away. A large African American angel grabbed Dean and hauled him from the vehicle. It was like lifting a feather for him, he tossed Dean to the pavement driving another dizzying wash of pain through the collapsed man.

Castiel disappeared from the backseat. "Seriously?!" Sam fumbled with the seatbelt trying to free himself from the vehicle. He had no idea what he was going to do against _two angels_. Hell, not just angels but archangels. None of this was going to end well, he was pretty sure of that. Suddenly Sam was thrown from the car. He landed in a heat several hundred feet away. A sharp pain in his shoulder let him know he'd landed badly.

Dean pushed up onto his knees, his left arm held protectively close to his body. He wanted to avoid showing weakness; unfortunately at the moment he couldn't simply cast off the pain. The power inside him bucked and crashed against the warded handcuff and every time it did, he could feel his body burn a bit more.

"Sammy?!" he called into darkness.

Sam was just starting to respond when he felt the presence behind him. The hair on the back of his arms stood up. His gaze flashed around as he tried to determine just what was going on. "Dean?!"

"Sam, stay down." Dean bit out as he forced his way past the pain and managed to make it to his feet.

"Dean Winchester." A deep baritone broke the silence.

Sudden pain lanced through the eldest Winchester's head and he dropped to his knees again when it blinded him momentarily. Dean's right hand clutched at his temple as flash after flash after flash of every moment he had spent in hell assaulted him simultaneously. When the memories came from his experiences one at a time he could handle them, but having them crammed down his throat and into his head all at once was more than he handle. He wanted to reach out, to know if Sam was okay, but he was barely holding onto reality.

An arm slipped around Sam's throat and his assailant locked it into a chokehold. He tried to elbow his attacker in the stomach or throw them over his shoulder, but the angle made it impossible for him to get any leverage. His vision was starting to blur as his windpipe was crushed beneath the supernatural strength of whatever the hell was behind him. "Ak..kkkk…."

"Calm down, Sam." A raspy voice he didn't recognize whispered in his ear just before he dropped into unconsciousness.

Dean gasped as the images and pain combined to new levels. He barely heard the voice above him.

"You've caused me a lot of trouble Winchester." A tall well-built man stepped in front of Dean, his hands interlaced behind his back like he didn't have a care in the world. This angel certainly wasn't afraid of the thing kneeling at his feet.

The pained man forced his gaze up; the archangel smiled but said nothing more.

"Am I supposed to know you?" Dean spit out the words along with a mouthful of blood.

The smile died and the man leaned over fisting his hands into Dean's short blonde hair. With no effort at all he lifted until only his booted feet brushed the ground. Dean grunted with the pain, but didn't make any other sound forcing his eyes to focus on the son of a bitch in front of him.

"Yes." The angel answered coldly.

Dean's peripheral vision caught Sam's body tumbling to the asphalt in a boneless heap.

"Sam!" He cried. Dean tried to free himself from the bastard looming over him, but his arms simply wouldn't cooperate. The archangel released him and Dean dropped to his chest with jarring pain.

"You took something from me Dean." Leaning down the angel gouged his fingers into the ruined flesh along Dean's left arm. Ignoring the intake of breath at the increased pain, "Eventually I'm going to want what you promised." His warm breath ghosted across his captive's sweaty flesh. "Until then, I'm taking little Sammy for some 'one on one' time."

Rage coursed through Dean at even the thought of Sam being taken. "You hurt him and I swear to god…" He seethed. He felt like a nuclear weapon waiting to explode and he knew that it was only a matter of time before he did.

Leaning back he looked up at the archangel, he missed the celestial being stepping up behind him. The cuff was slapped onto his right wrist and suddenly all his buzzing power was absent. And the skull splitting pain that tore into him was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Dean couldn't focus, couldn't even remember his own name let alone how to fight back. But there was one word he would never forget, even if he'd wanted to, and it was screaming inside his head, _Sammy_!

"I am sorry it had to be this way, Dean. But you left us no other choice." Castiel stepped around from behind him and the moonlight illuminated the angel's face. He glanced over at Sam's unconscious form and wondered if the kid had any idea his destiny truly was. Castiel doubted it. "We need to take your brother for the time being."

Dean found his voice, "You do this and I'll rip your fucking feathers out, one by one." His menacing tone dropped and ice nearly dripped from every word as he glared at the angel. Contempt and hate warred behind the hybrid's shifting eyes. They were flickering between black with green and full inky darkness.

The angel felt something stir inside him as he stared at the incapacitated older brother. He had a hard time placing the feeling; he felt actual concern for these Winchester brothers. But he couldn't go against Raphael, it would mean his death if he did and he couldn't help Dean if he was dead.

"What happens to Sam is not my call." Castiel walked around and squatted down, "I have never seen anything like you, Dean." He raised an eyebrow. "None of us has." He started to say something else, but a second flutter had him standing up and moving away from Dean. "Uriel, Sam Winchester is over there." He pointed at the heap near the front of the Impala.

The archangel stepped closer to Dean. He pulled his angel blade out and pushed Dean over, so he was looking directly into the eyes of the only living being that had ever betrayed him. "Dean Winchester. I've been looking for you."

"Ya found me. Whatcha gonna do now?" His eyes never shifted from the dark human eyes of the angel's vessel as Dean poured all the malice and rage in his soul into those few words.

"Oh Dean, you're going to help us turn your brother." Uriel said with a smile.

Dean's gaze shifted and his nose started to twitch as darkness rushed through him. He felt the angelic side of his soul starting to bend under the demonic rage. The damn cuffs alternated between ice and fire; with a stubbornness honed by the life he'd led, Dean shoved the pain away. "The hell you say." He grunted.

With a look of pleasure the angel glanced to his left, Raphael remained silent and nodded once granting permission.

Uriel stepped forward and with agonizingly slow precision he pulled the holy blade along Dean's left cheek. The instantaneous shock was more than just the blades edge sliced though his skin and it nearly sent him into the waiting darkness. The pain was blinding and he bit his lips closed when anguish gurgled to the surface. He hadn't spent millenniums on the rack without learning how to compartmentalize his pain.

Uriel leaned down and whispered, "It hurts worse for you because of the twisted darkness in your soul. It's a bit like holy water, only worse. The pain will spread like poison through your system, building until it fries your brain like an egg." He glanced over at the other two angels. "Too bad we won't be here to see your head explode. That would be a sight worth sticking around for." Uriel's eyes dropped to Sam's unconscious form, "But we have other things to _break_."

Raphael tipped his head toward the prone Winchester and Uriel stepped forward roughly yanking Sam over his shoulder, headless of any injuries he might have.

Dean watched with a stony expression when Sam didn't so much as twitch. His gaze shifted to Castiel and he narrowed his eyes, anger and pain driving him past any point of return. The increasing wash of agony was making it almost impossible to keep his eyes on all three angels as they walked toward the door. "I'm gonna kill every single one of you." He ground out before spitting blood onto the floor.

Castiel frowned as he looked at the bright red blood that now stained Dean's teeth and together with his shifting eyes it made him look like something out of a biblical story. Of course now that he considered it, Dean would have filled the role of avenging angel quite nicely. That was a sobering thought, a human soul with all the power of heaven and hell at his beck and call.

Dean didn't blink as he watched the sons a bitches that were taking his baby brother away. He wasn't sure what was worse, the moment he'd realized that he couldn't be saved and he would be going to hell or having to watch heaven's hosts steal Sammy away. He could feel the anger building inside him, driving the pain back and clearing his head. "I swear on my mother's grave that I will burn all you to the ground if you do this." The promise in his words was low and menacing; there was no doubt that Dean would carry it out, given the chance.

Castiel's eyebrows drew down at the threat. There had been very few times in his life that he'd felt genuine fear. Staring at the enraged demon-angel lying at his feet was rapidly turning into one of those times. There was no part of him that doubted whether or not Dean would carry the threat out. But that wasn't what scared him, under the mask of impotent rage Castiel saw an older brother that still loved his little brother with a singular devotion. _That_ was something that the angel could understand. He too loved his brothers and he wanted to ensure their continued survival, but he wasn't sure if their current plan would allow for that.

Uriel leaned down and patted the incapacitated hybrid on the cheek. It was patronizing and pretty much a shitty thing to do, but it would also piss off the _thing_ lying at his feet. "Tell you what sparky, you survive this? I say, take your best shot." Uriel quipped. He glanced over at Castiel, "Stay here until the poison burns his demonic soul back to hell." Uriel ordered without a second thought and then he and Raphael were gone; and so was Sam.

Dean went cold inside at the blank space above him. He had no way of knowing where those feathered asshats had taken Sam and to make matters worse he was stuck with the bastard that let it happen.

An image of Sam on a rack with meat hooks piercing his flesh flickered through Dean's mind. A red haze settled over the world he was looking out at, it reminded him of his time in hell. Did that mean that Sam was in hell? Was he going to spend time in hell before this was all over? If that were in his brother's future, Dean would change it. There was no fucking way he would allow Sammy to suffer as he had.

Footsteps returned his attention to his current situation. With an effort that would have made his father proud, Dean rolled to his knees ignoring the pull of the damage flesh along his arms. With a grunt of pain he teetered as nausea rolled through him. It started along the angel blade injury and exponentially increased the further down his body it ran.

Castiel stared at the demon-hybrid as he rolled across the wet soil; Dean's face was a mask of pain and hidden determination. His blue eyes shifted up to where Uriel and Raphael had stood. He clenched his teeth, feeling like a dog left to heel their dirty laundry.

Dean groaned. He only had one chance, he had to convince this bastard to help him. With a stilted intake of breath, "They're…gonna kill….my brother…you dick." He rasped out. Blood dripped off his lips landing with a 'splat' on the dirt, he clenched his eyelids shut, misery clearly evident on his face. Dean managed to look up at the angel, his gaze revealing the same black-green eyes that Castiel had seen in the cemetery.

Narrowing his own eyes he watched the hybrid try and haul his tortured body to his feet. What could possibly be compelling the demon-angel to harm himself every time he moved? Castiel knew that the poison that currently raged through Dean's system had to be debilitating and unimaginably painful.

A tiny bit of sympathy worked through the angel. He didn't want this _being_ to tear himself apart trying to save his brother and he had no idea why he even cared. "They will not kill Sam."

"No, they'll just…" Dean groaned, blinking hard when he started to cough, his lungs burned with a white-hot fire that felt like it was burning him from the inside out. "They'll just turn him into-" Dean stopped and started to push upright until he'd managed to get to his feet, his body listing against the Impala as he did.

"A demon?" Castiel hazarded. Dean really didn't understand anything that was happening. He had no idea how the rules of heaven really worked, nor did he appear to understand how hell worked either. "They cannot."

Another image darted through Dean's mind, only this time it was of the angel standing in front of him. He was lying in a pool of his vessel's blood, his face distorted like it was melting. Power that exceeded anything he'd ever felt rolled off the injured angel. Dean had no idea what had happened or why he was seeing an image of this pee-brained idiot, but he was. So for reasons unknown _Death_ wanted him to see this.

Dean glared at the angel, his cheek jumping as he clenched his teeth together in frustration. Whether it was from pain or anger, Castiel didn't know.

Drawing his eyebrows down, Castiel watched as black veins spidered out from the cut on Dean's cheek. His skin had a green hue to it and his body shook with the intensity of the poison coursing through his veins. But the vengeful look etched into his eyes told the tale of a soul that would never give up without a fight. It wouldn't matter how much it hurt or if it would eventually destroy his very existence, he would not stop. Heaven might have taken on more than they could handle when they stole Sam Winchester.

"How do you know that?" Dean bit out through his clenched teeth.

The angel sighed, "Sam is the boy with the demon blood. He will cannot _become_ a demon. He carries inside him the potential to become something more." He raised an eyebrow before nodding at Dean. "Not unlike yourself." Shrugging he walked around Dean staring at the anomaly that was his twisted soul. "You are both abominations. God has no place in his kingdom things like you or him." His voice dropped as it picked up an edge, something about these Winchesters was unique, special.

"You call my brother an abomination again and I'll tear your throat out with my teeth." Dean promised before trying another tactic. "You always follow those douchebags orders? Or can you think for yourself?" Dean growled just as his knees buckled. Whatever that blade was doing to him, it really sucked ass. Currently he was regretting the fact he hadn't stabbed this angel back at the cemetery. Without Castiel he wouldn't have allowed himself to be sidelined. Seeing Sammy for the first time in thousands of years had thrown Dean off his game and he'd been unprepared for the angel's handcuff trick.

"A soldier that does not follow orders lives in chaos." Castiel answered evenly. He saw the hybrid teeter before steadying himself. "You will not last much longer. The blade-poison is accumulating in your brain stem, it will stop all activity in your body very soon." He turned and stared directly at Dean. "The grace you were given will be extracted and then you will go straight back to hell."

Dean spit more blood onto the slowly drying soil and then barked a wet sounding laugh. "You think I'm scared of hell?" He shook his head to clear his vision. "Ya kinda get used to the heat." He snarked.

"I know what you are afraid of Dean Winchester." Castiel tilted his head to the side. "And it is not hell. Nor Alistair and his many blades. The only thing that truly scares you, is losing your brother to the darkness. That demonic part of him that was dripped into his mouth at six months old. You have never cared what happens to yourself, only Sam."

Dean's voice was ice cold as he stuttered around the pain, "You don't know anything about me, or him."

"I know exactly _everything_ about you and your brother." He walked around Dean and inhaled the cool air. "I have been watching you two since before you were born. Too bad neither of you lived up to your potential. The Winchesters had great 'potential'."

"Fuck you!" Dean seethed. "You peeping little bastard."

Castiel sighed. "Why are you fighting so hard? Let yourself go Dean. Let your brother go."

Pain coursed through him and his response sounded as though it was being ripped from a place so deep that Dean could barely admit it, "I…can't."

The angel nodded in satisfaction. "I know. That's why I am here."

TBC…

 **Please leave a review. It would be greatly appreciated.**

 **Author's Note:** _For all those who reviewed the last chapter, thank you._


	11. Allies

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 11**

 _Allies_

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "I know. That's why I'm here."

The angel's response made no sense to him, but then again Dean was also having a tough time keeping his failing body upright. So was it really such a surprise that he was alos having difficulty grasping the gravity of that single sentence? He lifted his grief and pain filled eyes, "What?" he rasped out.

The angel took a slow step in his direction and Dean found himself backing up involuntarily. He was no shape to take on an angel at full strength. Hell, the way he was feeling, Bobby could probably take him down. The sudden sense of betrayal that thumped him in the back of the head reminded him that Bobby Singer was one hell of a hunter and 'no', Dean probably couldn't take the old man down. Not that he wanted to. That thought surprised him. Since he'd crawled out of hell the only thing that had even registered as _human_ had been Sam.

Although that shouldn't have been much of a 'wow' moment either, his little brother would always own a piece of him. Dean had freely and willingly given that piece to Sammy the day he'd hauled his tiny squirming brother from the burning house in Lawrence, Kansas.

He watched as the angel took a long slow breath before quickly covering the ground that had separated them. Before Dean knew what was happening the angel had grabbed his cuffed hands. He started to spin around intent on taking out this asshat, but a soft 'click' and the sudden rush of power stopped him. His power return with the force of a category 1 hurricane blowing through his system; each beat of his black heart sending new waves of pain coursing through him, each one exponentially worse than the one before.

The world blurred and his knees buckled. Dean hit the ground with a solid sounding thud, his hands clutching at his head like they could stop the skull-splitting agony. The feeling of slight pressure on his shoulder was the first thing that didn't hurt like a son of a bitch. With the contact came slow relief from some of the pain. For the first time in days he was able to reach out with his mind with only mild fiery tendrils burning along his entire body. Slowly he flipped his long body over and scooted back until he was leaning against the Impala. The gravel pulled along his jeans and there was a rock digging into his left ass cheek, but at least he was somewhat upright.

Glancing down, Dean finally realized that the angel had removed the cuff on his left wrist. The skin was slowly shifting from charred black to something that looked like severe sunburn. Shock nearly stole his voice, but not quite. "Why?" he rasped out, lifting his gaze until it rested on the man in the trench coat. Castiel was placing the strange looking key back inside the inner coat pocket of the coat. "You said you didn't have that." Dean accused.

"I did not. But my brothers were intent on you and Sam, they were not paying attention to what I was doing. I 'borrowed' the key from Uriel." The angel took a step back as he watched the power slowly make its way through Dean's body. At Dean's incredulous look he continued. "Let's just say that our interests in this matter are the same."

With the cuff off one wrist at least Dean was able to heal some of the damage done to his body. Jade green eyes turned to look up at the angel, "Thought you said I was an 'abomination'?" He hadn't missed the fact that this 'Castiel' had not completely removed the power-dampening cuffs, which meant that he didn't trust Dean. Which was smart because Dean didn't trust him either. _Smart. Very smart feathers._

"I did." Castiel answered coldly. "And you are. But you also represent the best chance at stopping my brothers from destroying the world." He stared down at the surprised man.

Dean held up his right wrist, the request clearly evident by his actions.

"No. The cuff will remain on one wrist for the time being. If you try and remove it, there are safeguards in place. If you try and take the key, there will be consequences."

The injured man snorted. "There are pretty shitty consequences if it stays on my arm too." He held up the partially healed left arm.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at the insulting sound. "The poison that I have dampened in your system can be reactivated and you will cease to exist if it runs its course."

"Don't you mean I'll have my soul 'burned back to hell'?" He'd been in pain when the archangel had been present, but he hadn't been entirely deaf to the threats.

The dark haired angel shook his head. "No. The poison destroys the demonic and angelic without discrimination."

"That doesn't sound like a great thing to have lying around heaven." Dean coughed and instantly regretted it as his body reacted to the movement. Shit, that still hurt.

"Get these off me." He growled angrily. "I can't save my brother this way." He glared at the silver cuff. "It handicaps what I am."

Castiel pressed his lips together and finally shook his head again. "I know that Dean. And that is why they stay on. I am unwilling to trust you anymore than you trust me."

Grabbing the hood of the Impala Dean lurched to his feet, swaying slightly. "You wanna know what _might_ make me trust you more?" Again he lifted his wrist. There was a patch of reddened skin starting beneath the white gold. It hadn't blistered yet, but that wasn't too far behind.

"Working with you is a necessary evil. I will not let you loose on the world." Castiel moved away, pulling an angel blade from inside of his coat and tapping it against his leg in a silent threat that was not lost on Dean.

His eyes dropped to the blade before flickering back up to meet the intense blue of the angel's gaze. "Not a great way to build trust. How about we try a trust fall exercise. No powers, you go first." It was that exact moment that his mind chose to throw more of his _future/past_ at him. Only this time he saw both Sam and himself inside a burned out church. His brother looked like death warmed over. His face was beat all to hell and he was bleeding from a deep gash on his left palm.

A man that Dean didn't recognize was tied to a chair with what looked like puncture marks on his neck.

" _Sammy stop!"_ This time Dean wasn't just an observer. He was the one begging his brother to see the truth in his words. Sam's arms were glowing with a soft golden light that scared the shit out of him. Whatever his brother was into, it wasn't going to end well. Somehow he knew that if Sammy finished the spell, the one he'd been reciting when Dean had burst through the double doors that he would die.

" _Hold on. Hold on! You really think that?" Dean could feel the sting of tears behind his worried eyes. This was the brother that he'd sold his soul for. The one that he'd spent a year in purgatory fighting to get back to. And he thought that Dean gave a damn about anyone but him? Benny had saved Dean's life more times than he could count, but he had been a poor substitute for Sammy. "It has never been like that. I need you to see that. I'm begging you."_

 _Sam's face was a mask of pain and fear. It nearly vibrated off the kid in waves. Dean felt his own nerves fraying at the edges as he watched his brother consider the truth of his words. Dean had never known that Sam's biggest sin, as far as his brother was concerned, was how many times_ he'd _failed_ Dean _. Because of all the things he remembered about his baby brother, 'failure' wasn't one of them._

 _Hell, he'd been poisoned by the supernatural when he'd been four years old. That wasn't exactly Sam's fault. He had tried to believe that people were inherently good, at least in their core, and that belief had ended with a knife in his back. A fresh wash of grief penetrated his heart at the sheer devastation he'd felt the moment Sam had crashed to his knees in the mud. He still wished it had been him that put a bullet in Jake. In that moment there had been nothing that Dean wouldn't have given to have his brother back._

 _Sam looked away, battling his own demons for a moment before finally saying, "How do I stop?" His voice trembled with emotion and he swayed slightly._

 _Relief flooded through Dean at those four words. "You just let it go." He pulled his brother into a hug. "Just let it go." He could feel the heat radiating off of Sam as his damaged body trembled against him._

 _The faint golden glow slowly faded from Sam's forearms. He leaned away from Dean holding his arms out for his inspection. Dean smiled. "See."_

Dean didn't realize that he'd crumpled against the hood of the Impala as the memories embedded themselves in his skull. He didn't see the surprised expression cross Castiel's face as he watched the whole thing.

Once he'd regained control of himself the angel moved closer, "Dean, what was that?"

A feeling that resembled warmth settled in his chest at the slight concern he heard in the angel's voice. He didn't know where it was coming from, but somewhere deep down he liked this Castiel and he was fairly certain that the angel liked him too. Although why either of them would feel that way was beyond him. So Dean buried the unwanted feeling under sarcasm and anger. "When I feel like caring and sharing? I'll give ya ring."

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows at that. "You're lying."

"I only promised Sam that I wouldn't lie. You on the other hand are open season." Dean was starting to have a hard time discerning his current feelings from the ones he was being fed about _his_ other life. If he ever got his fingers on that reaper, he was going to kill her. A flash of a scythe cutting through the air only to come to a jarring halt the moment it made contact with a skeletal man flickered through his head. "Enough already." Dean growled through clenched teeth.

Curiosity was a feeling that Castiel was unused to and he didn't much like it. But it did make him ask, "Enough of what?"

"Just forget it. How do I find my brother?" Dean's words were low and strained when he spoke of Sam.

Castiel looked off into the distance. "We need to visit an old friend of yours; an old hunter friend." The angel reached out and pulled Dean away from the car.

As much as he wanted to stab the bastard for what he'd done to Sam, Dean knew that he didn't stand a chance of finding his brother without the angel's help. His own power was too weak, he could feel it again, but he couldn't access enough of it to be useful.

He shook his head and snorted, "Bobby? He'll take one look at me and you and gank us both."

The angel raised an eyebrow, "Gank? What is a gank?"

"You know what? Just never mind." He turned and made his way to the driver's seat. When the angel didn't move he tapped the top of the car. "We aren't leaving her here."

"It is does not have a gender, it is a car."

"No. She's a lot more than that. Just get the hell in before I change my mind."

SPN SPN SPN

Sam clawed his way back toward consciousness. The thrum of pain along his neck let him know that he'd been choked out recently. He would recognize that sick groggy sensation anywhere, and he hated it with a passion. He and Dean used to do it to each other as kids, part of their father's training. It was an effort to teach them to catch each other off guard and then submit their opponent into unconsciousness. It never occurred to either of them that he and his big brother should never have been on differing sides of that equation.

Dean generally won the games involving tactics. Sam hadn't missed the massive headaches that always came with losing a game.

He shifted and found his movements tightly restrained, it took him a moment to realize that he was suspended. Sam's hands were tied above his head and his toes were barely skimming the ground. His head rolled forward onto his chest as he assessed the state of the rest of his body. Luckily he didn't seem to be hurt anywhere other than his neck, and for that he was grateful. Swallowing the sick feeling in his gut, Sam glanced around. He was in a small room, very little light, and he was completely alone. Which meant that those angel dicks hadn't taken Dean when they got him.

He'd seen just enough to know that Dean had gone down _hard_ after the big angel had cut him. The injury wouldn't normally even register, but it had completely incapacitated Dean; and those damn cuffs were still dampening his power.

The last image that Sam had was of his brother's worried eyes, his _black-green demon-angel eyes_. None of this was making sense, demons weren't supposed to be able to _care._ One thing that Sam knew for certain was that whatever Dean was now? It wasn't any kind of _normal_.

"You're awake." A voice dripping with contempt said from somewhere to his left.

Sam's head swiveled in that direction, he couldn't stop the surprised breath when the angel walked out of the darkness. He was wearing a dark blue suit and a severe frown.

"Yeah, that tends to happen." Sam quipped; he pulled at the manacles that held him immobile, they didn't budge.

"Ah, funny guy." The angel walked around Sam, his dark eyes raking over the young human with such distain that Sam could almost taste it. A large hand lifted and tilted his head from side to side and then dropped down his chest before stopping just above his heart. "You're going to help us, Sam." He said with a confidence that stunned and horrified Sam.

"Like hell." He twisted and tried to stretch out when his calf cramped up and the pain shot up his leg. Sam grimaced before clenching his eyelids closed just waiting for the pain to pass. The muscle bunched and coiled inside his leg and there was nothing he could do but endure. "You got a name asshat?"

The angel stepped forward and grabbed Sam's chin again tilting it toward him, his thick fingers pressing hard enough to leave a hand shaped bruise on Sam's jawline. Pain shot through his head when the angel squeezed harder and Sam groaned. The pressure inside his skull felt like his head was about to crack open. Sam felt his mouth being forced open, a metal piece was shoved in and a leather strap was buckled at the base of his neck. He felt both humiliated and terrified at what this new contraption meant for his continued survival. Was he about to learn first hand why demons were scared of angels?

The angel remained silent, he reached into his pocket and removed a vile that Sam couldn't see very well. His eyes were starting to water and he wanted to swallow so badly that it was nearly choking him. Sam's eyes widened when he got a clear look at the vile and realized that it looked an awful lot like blood.

"Uriel." He'd answered Sam's first question, but now the young hunter had a million more. Questions that he couldn't ask because of the thing on his face; he wanted to know whose blood was in that vile?

Almost like he knew the unasked question, "Blood." Uriel smiled and tilted Sam's head back and poured the contents down Sam's open throat. "Demon blood to be more exact."

Sam started to gag when some of the blood went down his windpipe. He'd never considered just how hard it was to cough when one's mouth was wedged open. The angel didn't offer to help or take the contraption off him, he simply watched as Sam struggled.

"You have a role to play. And this?" He held up the empty vile. "It's a necessary evil." Sam bucked against the restraints, but he was no match for the inhuman strength of a divine being. "This is just the start." Uriel waited until the human's eyes started to roll back in his head and his body sagged with the need for fresh air before removing the device.

Sam gasped when the angel stepped back, a smile playing across his face and a satisfied look in his dark eyes. He patted Sam's cheek like a child. "Good boy. I'll be back later with your next dose. Until then why don't you just hang around?" The angel laughed at his own joke, but the action didn't reach his cold and calculating eyes.

The metallic taste of blood made Sam nauseous. Yet no matter how hard he tried he couldn't eject the blood from his body. He could also feel something else happening, a slight buzzing sound that redirected his mind from his current shitty condition. It felt like something was pulling at the edges of his conscious mind; like scratching at a door that he couldn't quite hear. He felt like something was trying to pull that door open and let _something_ out.

Sam didn't understand what the hell was happening, but the fact that that bastard had given him demon blood? That couldn't be a good thing. Sam had never realized just how tainted he must be that the angels were willing to destroy his humanity just for kicks. He pooled the saliva in his mouth and spit what little remained of the blood onto the floor at his feet.

Was this what had happened to Dean? Had he been tied down and forced to submit to the whims of these celestial douchebags? Whatever else Dean might be, he was still Sam's big brother.

A rush of blood to his head sent Sam's body into convulsions when the pain hit. But with that pain his mind started to stretch and he could feel the walls pressing in on him as he tried to remain conscious. A slow trickle of blood ran from both his ears, dropping onto his dark cotton t-shirt. The atmosphere surrounding him was too loud, too bright, too _everything._ The last thought that ran through his head was a desperate plea to his big brother. "Dean, help me." And with that he slumped forward into the waiting darkness.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean slammed on the brakes and sent the car skidding to the shoulder. He tore open his door and barely made it out of the Impala before he was spewing blood onto the gravel. Pain tore into his skull forcing him to slam the palms of his hands against his ears. It was like hearing everything at once. All the audible noise that existed in the world hit him at the same time.

"Dean?" Castiel was beside him, not quite touching but ready to offer a hand if needed.

He ignored the angel and waited for the world to stop splitting his head wide open. Somewhere on the edges of his mind he heard, "Dean, help me."

It was Sammy. There was no question who had called him, just like there was no question that he would answer that call for help. Even if it meant burning through what was left of his mangled soul. The pain subsided and Dean slid to his ass, he was focusing on pulling in one breath after another.

"Sammy." He whispered hoarsely.

The angel didn't ask, he simply reached out and touched the top of Dean's head. Instantly he saw what the reaper had done. He felt the pain and confusion that was driving Dean to rail against the lack of emotion he should be feeling. Those alternate memories had restored the demon-angel's empathy. Suddenly everything he'd seen in the last 48 hours took a clarity that Castiel would never have achieved without seeing it inside Dean's mind. He also felt the confusion the older Winchester felt concerning _their_ relationship. In the alternate memories he and Dean had been friends for a very long time. They'd watched each other die and they'd fought to undo the Winchester curse, or fate whatever one wanted to call it.

He pulled his hand back and stared down at the trembling man at his feet. Castiel had been pretty certain he was on the right side of destiny when he'd save Dean, but after seeing the lives they would have lived? The angel was now certain that he'd picked the winning side. These two brothers were more important than any of the billions of souls that had come before, because Sam and Dean Winchester would change the world.

Dean looked up at him and the angel frowned at the bloodshot eyes. It looked as though every blood vessel in his eyes had burst simultaneously. He didn't say anything as they stared at one another. There was a plea for help lodge so deeply in Dean's expression that Castiel couldn't have ignored even if he'd wanted to. He extended his hand. Dean stared at it like a snake for so long that the angel wondered if he would take what was the angel was offering. After what felt like a lifetime Dean nodded once and clasped his good hand in the angel's strong grip.

He gently pulled Dean to his feet and then walked back around to the passenger side of the car.

Dean looked over the roof at the angel and felt the sure knowledge that for some reason Castiel was _with him_ on this mission. The intense blue eyes of the angel watched him for a moment before he settled into the car. The older Winchester inhaled ignoring the pain of his injuries and crawled into the driver seat.

"We have work to do." Dean's voice was strained, but determined.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. It would be greatly appreciated.**

 **Author's Note:** _So it appears that the reaper had a purpose in cramming all those memories into Dean's skull. But they aren't out of the woods yet._


	12. Salvage

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 12**

Salvage

The old salvage yard looked the same as it had the last time he'd seen it. God, it felt like a lifetime ago. And if he was honest with himself, it had been. That life was when he'd been simply _Dean Winchester_. Before Cold Oak, that bitch of a crossroads demon and of course Lilith and that night in Indiana. That unending night that came complete with hellhounds and the desperation of Sam's cry for help. Dean furrowed his eyebrows as the memories dredged up pieces of emotions he thought were long buried beneath his time in the pit.

The sun was just clearing the fall horizon, so it was early in South Dakota. Luckily Dean knew that Bobby wasn't a late sleeper, or much a sleeper at all. Old hubcaps hung along the perimeter fencing, but Dean knew that they were just hiding the sigils and devil's traps that lined Singer Salvage yard. Prior to his time in Hell, Dean wouldn't have recognized half of those signs. But one of Alistair's favorite games had been to carve the many sigils into Dean's flesh until he managed to guess what they meant. The _game_ never ended until he'd managed to guess correctly. Sometimes Dean figured it out quickly and sometimes he had almost no flesh left by the time he finally managed to guess correctly.

With enormous effort Dean buried the memories as he pulled the Impala up next to the gate. He sighed with irritation and tilted his head to the side at the large demon's trap that was welded into the gate. _Damn-it Bobby._ He cursed silently before getting out of the car and slamming the driver's door shut. A tiny part of him winced at the rough treatment of his baby. The angel was silently watching him from the passenger seat; he'd made no move to try and help Dean.

 _Damn feather brained idiot hasn't said a word in a thousand miles._ Dean's eyes narrowed and he slammed his fist into a hubcap leaning against the edge of the gate.

Turning back toward the car he called out, "Listen feathers, I need you to either break this trap or go get Bobby, so he can break it." He tried to keep the hard edge from his voice, but judging by the irritated look on the angel's face, he'd failed miserably.

Castiel raised an eyebrow before slowly opening the door and climbing out. His blue eyes traveled along the warded gate and then to the many sigils etched throughout the property. "If this 'Bobby' has set up wards to keep your kind out? I will not break them."

He stood there in his tan trench coat with a quizzical look on his face as he watched the hybrid's face turn several shades of red.

"Get. In. There. And. Bring. Bobby. Out." Dean ground out through clenched teeth. His fists were balling up causing the blisters to pop on his right wrist and the scab to break open on his partially healed left one. A wash of pain simply irritated the oldest Winchester rather than interrupt his growing ire.

The angel's head titled again and with a huff of indignation he disappeared in flutter of wings.

Dean ran his fingers through his blonde hair, an attempt to control his agitation as he waited. He had never been patient as a human, but as a demon? He positively sucked the big one at _waiting_. His eyes caught a glint of light off the handcuffs as the sun rose over the horizon. Dean shook them and then grimaced when pain flared along his wrist. The skin was basically one big red blistering scab. As disturbing and painful as it was, he was a bit fascinated by the many different shades of red. There was new blood, old blood and the dark red of the thick scabs that wrapped around his entire wrist and had started to travel up his arm.

"Well that's just frickin peachy." He groaned.

A fluttering of wings pulled his gaze up. The angel was back and standing next to him was one very pissed off and moderately confused Bobby Singer. The old man look healthy enough, apparently losing the Winchester boys hadn't adversely affected him. At least not that Dean could see. Dean stepped toward him and Bobby pulled violently away from the angel. His eyes blown wide in shock and increasing anger as he stared dumbfounded, at Dean.

"No. You can't be alive. What the hell are you?!" He seethed. Bobby was ready to bolt right back through that gate and into the house where Dean knew he couldn't follow. At least not without the old man's help. There was one thing that Bobby Singer wasn't; and that was stupid. Dean knew from many years of staying inside that house that the old hunter had hidden traps and sigils throughout the place. He hoped like hell that Bobby would help him because he couldn't do this without him. His gaze slid sideways to the angel and he grudgingly accepted that he needed Castiel's help too. And frankly that just pissed him off.

"Sam's in trouble." Dean said; there was no emotion in his voice as he stared at the other hunter. If that didn't peak Bobby's interest, nothing would.

"I'm sure he is." He paused for moment before repeating, "I asked you a question. _What_ the hell are you?" Bobby's blue eyes shifted between Dean and the trench coat wearing man to his right. He knew that the man couldn't be a demon, because he wouldn't have gotten past the front gate. But the fact that Bobby was now staring at the physical body of one of the Winchester boys, boys he'd considered 'his' and _he_ hadn't been able to come in? Well, that fact was not lost on him.

Green eyes that held a depth of emotion that shouldn't be possible stared at Bobby, willing him to believe his next words. "Bobby, I'm me. You taught me how to repair the engine on a '57 Chevy when I was nine. Sam jumped out the second story window and broke his arm when was six. Too many superman cartoons on Saturday mornings." He shrugged his shoulders and walked around the stunned the hunter.

Dean licked his lips and allowed his eyes to shift to green-black before stopping in front of the old man again. "I'm not the same person I was before the pit. I haven't been that _kid_ for a very long time." He chuckled when the shock flooded Bobby's expression; he backed away from Dean. "But I _am_ Dean Winchester. And I need your help to save my brother."

"Oh god." Bobby breathed before looking over at Castiel. "You're a demon? Really?" Bobby had imagined, hell he'd had nightmares about what might have happened to Dean after the deal came due. But he'd never even considered that the boy would come back as a demon. Good God, if he was really honest with himself, he'd never really thought about what happened to a soul when it went to hell.

The possibilities were too horrific his guilt for losing Dean was still overwhelmingly strong. Bobby had been the one to walk away from Dean after Sam's death in Cold Oak. He'd known that John's oldest son was capable damn near anything where Sam was concerned. So the fact that Dean had gone to a crossroads demon seeking a way to bring his little brother back was as much Bobby's fault as it was Dean's. If he'd been there, he might have been able to talk some sense into the idgit. "If you are Dean, and I'm not saying you are, what the hell do you want with me? Not exactly a big fan of _demons_. Which my Dean would know."

Dean rolled his eyes and blew out a long-suffering breath, almost like it was painful to explain this, again, to the man staring at him with horror etched in his eyes. "I already told you. Sam is in trouble." Bobby raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "So?" He knew that demon's didn't feel emotional connections to humans. That was something that was burned out of them in hell, or so he'd been told. So there was no way that this _thing_ staring at him with _Dean's face_ was worried about his little brother's well being.

Blonde eyebrows shot up and wearing Dean's body snorted. "So? Really, so?! What the hell?" He shook his head and let his eyes drift over to the angel before pulling them back to Bobby. "So, he's my brother. I'm not gonna let him die, or worse."

He pointed in Castiel's direction with his thumb before continuing. "These feathered douchebags want to use Sam to jumpstart the damn apocalypse. You really wanna see that? I don't." His voice shifted from irritated to icy cold. "But they don't just want to destroy the world, no they want to turn Sam into the walking embodiment of evil." He cast rage-filled eyes at Castiel.

"What?" Bobby asked incredulously. He wasn't sure that he'd heard that correctly.

Dean ground his teeth together, "They want Sam to be Lucifer's meat suit. The want beef up his body, steal it and then shove Lucifer in; like some sort of god-damn body snatching movie."

Castiel finally had had enough. "I have already told you why I am here. I will not keep explaining myself to you."

Dean's face twitched with barely controlled anger as he glared at the angelic being. He wasn't aware that his eyes had shifted; the green was bright against the inky black.

Bobby watched the exchange, but it was the shift in Dean that caught his attention.

"What are you?" He asked.

He wanted to know about the one that had shown up inside his house. The man had placed a hand on his shoulder and hauled Bobby to the edge of his property without his consent. But it was Dean that scared him. Whatever deal he'd struck to get out of hell, it couldn't be good.

"Oh him?" Dean said, his arm rising in an irritated solute. "He's your run of the mill, angel of the lord."

Castiel's eyebrow rose at the condemnation he heard in the hybrid's voice. His eyes flickered to Bobby's when the old man laughed out loud. "Bullshit, there's no such thing."

"See now that's what I said." Dean shot back.

The angel stepped back and the sky darkened as he demonstrated that there were indeed angels in this universe. The thunder clapped and Bobby ducked without thinking about it. The wind whipped at his baseball cap, causing him to reach up and pull it further down onto his head. After a few moments the weather anomaly died along with all of Bobby's denial.

"Okay, he's an angel and you're what? A demon? Why are you working together? And what the hell do you want from me?" He leaned against the sturdy post that secured the large iron gates of his property.

Dean stopped smiling immediately and stepped forward, his strange eyes aglow with the anticipation of revealing what he was. "Oh, I'm something else entirely." His eyelids dropped closed and he lifted the cloak of invisibility from his own grey wings, the effect was the same as the angel's but without the weather channel preview.

The grey wings spread wide from his shoulders and extended in about 7 feet each direction. They weren't shadows like Castiel's had been, these were full blow _wings_. The black in his eyes faded as the green took on a luminescent quality. Pain burned along his arm, but it was worth it to see Bobby's reaction. True he had limited use of his powers, but revealing what himself was still within his power. And judging by the way Bobby's mouth fell open and he leaned heavily against the gate, he was still spectacular.

Castiel shook his head and stepped close to Bobby. "We do not wish to harm you. But I need him to find his brother. It is the only way to stop my brothers from doing something awful."

"What…wha…" Bobby stuttered.

"I'm a hybrid." Dean simplified it like it was everyday a hunter met an angel-demon hybrid; just hanging out in their front yard, asking them to help save the damn world. He stepped forward as Dean's eyes faded back to the familiar jade green Bobby had seen staring back at him for more than twenty years. But as Dean stared at him, the memories of his childhood raced to the surface of his mind. Dean saw Sam kneeling in front of him, his face a mass of bruises and blood. And over his brother Dean stood brandishing an ancient looking scythe.

" _It is for family that you must proceed, Dean. To become what you've become; to become what your are? It's a stain on your family."_

 _Dean looked down at his brother and he knew that he was the one that had beaten Sammy into submission. Because there wasn't a soul alive that had the ability to do that except 'him'. Shame washed through him at the realization that he done this. Dean had tricked his brother into coming knowing that he was going to kill him. Because that was Death's price to lock him away; to save the world from the darkness that Dean stood witness to. When he'd taken on the mark he hadn't known that it would fundamentally change who he was at his core._

" _Sammy, close your eyes." It was as close to begging as Dean Winchester could get. "Sam, close your eyes." He repeated when his brother continued to stare up at him. A memory surfaced when Sam had looked at him the same way. But it hadn't been his imminent death that had driven the disappointed look in his brother's blue-green eyes. It had been Dean's desire to give up the fight and accept the hand that destiny had dealt him._

 _And now as he stared down at the pictures Sammy had laid at his feet, Dean knew that he couldn't go through with it. It didn't matter that his refusal would release the 'darkness' back into the world. He couldn't go against the one rule that had driven every decision he'd made his entire life, 'protect Sammy'._

With a physical 'pop', Dean was back in the present. He clenched his teeth as the two parts of his soul once again warred with one another and his mind kept throwing fractured memories of life _he_ hadn't lived.

 _Because I said 'yes'._

Bobby's eyes flickered up to Castiel. "What's wrong with him?"

"A reaper has been inside his head."

"You let a _reaper_ get all up in ya?" He couldn't have heard that right; he glanced over at Dean. Dean didn't say anything, the dazed look in his eyes said it all; he had _felt_ whatever that thing had shown him. "A reaper, really?"

Castiel inhaled slowly, "Many biblical entities are real."

Bobby's gaze flickered back, Dean's eyes had taken on a far off glassy look and his face was pinched in a pain that both physical and emotional. "I'm gonna need more than that."

"Dean is unique. There has never been something like him. He carries within him both the demonic powers of hell and the angelic grace of heaven. The human soul was not created to control that type of power. It is simply not capable of withstanding the split between light and dark. Both halves of his soul are fighting for control over Dean. Eventually one side will win." At least he hoped that was going to happen. But he wasn't going to tell these humans that he had no clue what would happen as Dean progressed further down this path. Would Dean's soul survive the metamorphosis? Could it? Castiel didn't know.

God had placed a great worth on the human soul and Castiel was nothing if not loyal, he would not disobey the intentions of God. Stopping the betrayal his brothers and sisters intended to put in motion, well that was his mission now. He would see that God's greatest creations were not destroyed through the ignorance and personal agendas of heaven's hosts.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam sagged as his legs cramped up again, an involuntary groan escaping when the pain shot up his legs making him want to vomit. The _suit_ had been back over and over, forcing him to swallow the metallic tasting demon blood. Every time his head would ring and his eyes would blur when the spasms spread along every nerve leaving pain and weakness behind it.

The bastards didn't offer him food or water, just vials of foul tasting blood. Each time he felt a little less like himself for hours following the blood entering his system. The thing that was clawing at the inside of his skull was getting faster and stronger as it targeted a specific place. He couldn't feel his arms anymore and the pain in his jaw from being forced open was anything but pleasant.

Being left alone for so long had given Sam too much time to think. He couldn't help but wonder where Dean was and was he okay? Had his brother gone _dark_ side while he'd been gone? The youngest Winchester had too many questions and no answers. A slow understanding of the choices his brother dawned on him the longer he was forced to hang around and think about it.

In the deep down places inside, where he didn't like to venture, Sam had to admit that he would have done anything to bring Dean back after the hellhounds. So was it really so impossible that Dean had made choices to get him back topside? The bloody memories of Dean lying on the floor raced through his head and he swallowed at the violence of the image. Hell, he'd tried to make a deal with the crossroads demons, but none of them would deal. Not that he would ever be telling Dean that. His brother would be seriously pissed at just the though of Sam talking to a crossroads demon. A part of him wondered if he would have been strong enough to fight his way out of hell? Sam sure as hell hoped so.

His eyes shifted to the dark corner where the angel always emerged. There was nothing there. No door, no window, nothing. The part of him that had always looked up to his brother knew that Dean was one of the strongest people he'd ever met. In fact, as far as Sam was concerned, his brother had been stronger even than their father. Not because he'd been bigger or meaner, or even a better hunter. No, because Dean had managed to keep his humanity while wading though the death and destruction that had been their childhood. Somehow his brother had never lost the spark that made him _Dean._

Could hell really burn away the part of his big brother that had raised Sam?

XXXX

Their trip to the house was quick and uneventful as Bobby steered them around the numerous traps that were spread throughout the yard. He stomped up the creaky wooden stairs and stopped just before entering the old wooden door.

"Before I let you in this house, you either take a shot of holy water, or…" His gaze dropped to the handcuffs and the obvious effect they were having on Dean. "Or put those on both hands. I know they block your powers. Cuz you ain't coming in my home otherwise."

He had expected something like this from Bobby, but he'd hoped that the old hunter would believe him enough to skip this part. He knew that once they placed that second cuff, his body would start burning away at a slow but steady rate. Eventually the damn thing would start on his soul and then? _Poof, no more Dean._

A dark glare was his only answer from Dean before Castiel stepped forward and held out his hand. Dean turned a deadly look in his direction before slowly raising his arms and allowing the angel to cuff his other hand. He didn't miss the look of surprise on Bobby's face when he saw the blackened flesh under the white-gold cuffs on his right wrist. Dean hissed as the pain instantly rocketed through his head and his power slammed into an immovable wall, and built.

It was like having an expansion tank inside his head and it was just waiting to explode. The warded cuffs burned into the newly healed skin of his left wrist and he bit his cheek to stop the hiss of pain.

Dean sat across the table from Bobby, the hunter's sharp blue eyes staring at him without blinking.

Finally he'd had enough, "Ever had a staring contest with a fish, Bobby? Fish don't have eyelids…you can't win. So if this is a contest, you lose. Cuz I don't have to breathe, and I sure as hell don't have to blink."

Bobby's lips thinned as both the irritation and his memories of the snarky boy he'd known. "I was just wondering what your daddy would 'a said about-" He gestured at what Dean had become and snorted with derision. "This."

The hybrid rolled his shoulders and then reached up and cracked his neck before looking back at man that had been like a second father to him. "My dad would've said 'protect Sammy'." Dean stood up and walked to the counter, grabbing a glass and the bottle of whiskey before pouring himself a hefty dose of the amber liquid. "I need to save my brother." He rasped past the alcohol-tainted throat.

Bobby wanted to argue. He wanted to rail that this _thing_ could never have known what John would have wanted, but he couldn't. Because he was absolutely right. John Winchester man would've told Dean to protect Sam with his dying breath. So was it so surprising to him that that one _order_ had remained after the pit carved out everything else that made Dean… _Dean_?

"So who has Sam?" He finally asked with a sign of resignation.

"My brothers have taken him to a holding room." Castiel answered without looking at either of them. He was staring out into the yard; the rainbows of light that played off a hundred broken windshields had caught his attention.

Dean snorted, the derision thick in the sound. "Could you be more cryptic?" He set the glass down hard enough that Bobby was surprised it didn't shatter. "How about we play twenty questions? Uh, is the room on earth? Is the room in North America? Can I drive to the room in a day? Does the room have room service? Any of this ringing a bell?" He considered going on, but frankly he so irritated that it was hard to control his emotions and that in turn was activating his restrained power. The pain in his body intensified and he closed his eyes briefly to control it.

The angel turned a stoic look in his direction before turning toward Bobby's study and walking over to the desk. He looked at the globe on the corner and picked it up before walking straight back to Dean. Castiel set it on the table and spun it before suddenly stopping the motion with one finger against a brightly colored state. _California_.

Dean raised his eyebrows at that, "The angel-batcave is in Pasadena? Seriously?!" The sarcasm and disgust dripped from his lips as he shook his head and swigged back more alcohol.

"Let me assure you that this place is well protected and if they have implemented their plan, Sam only has a little over a day before he is past my ability to heal." Castiel turned and stared at Dean, a blank expression on his stony face.

Dean had walked away from the whiskey bottle and was staring at the small globe. "Alright, guess I'm going to the land of sun, surf and shitty homeless angels." He didn't want anyone else involved and yet as his eyes flicked between Bobby and the angel, he was fairly certain he wasn't making this trek alone.

Especially since it didn't appear as though this _angel_ was going to give him full control of his power anytime in the near future. "Bobby, I don't trust you right now and I know you damn sure don't trust me." His eyebrows cut down as he tried to pull his words together. "But Sammy needs help." That was as close as Dean was liable to get to an official invitation.

Bobby watched the flood of emotion wash over Dean's face. There was something different about him than any other _demon_ that he'd ever met. The old hunter had never heard of anything anywhere near the potential power levels that Dean could have access to. But looking at the increasing damage the cuffs were doing to his wrists, Bobby knew that he wasn't all-powerful. Even something like Dean could be hurt, maybe even killed.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. It would be greatly appreciated.**

 **Author's Note:** _The 'flash forwards' have a purpose; you'll just have to keep reading to find out what they mean for the Winchesters. Thanks for following along this far._


	13. Gardens and White Rooms

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 13**

 _Gardens and White Rooms_

"I assume you came to me for a reason other than to say 'hi', oh and by the way Sam's in trouble?"

Dean swallowed, "Yeah, I need a spell."

Bobby stared at the two supernatural beings standing in his cluttered kitchen, a blank look on his face as he considered what was being asked of him. He was really trying not to give away his feelings on what Dean had just asked him to do.

"What could a hell rejectand a servant of the lord want a spell for?" Bobby's gaze flickered between them. He still wasn't sure that what he was looking at, was 100% Dean Winchester, and that bothered the hell outta him. Bobby wanted to believe, he really did. But everything that he'd ever read about the supernatural said that what he was looking at simply wasn't possible. Souls didn't escape from hell and angels sure as hell didn't show up on earth and choose to work with demons.

He considered the fact that whatever was using Dean's body had allowed him to put the handcuffs on, thus rendering him essentially powerless. He supposed that that had to count for something. His aging blue eyes shifted to the other one, the one that claimed to be an _angel_ of the lord, nothing he'd done had affected that one.

The silver bullets made no difference, the salt hadn't stopped it, hell even a bunch of lead buckshot straight to it's chest hadn't done more than piss him off. It wasn't that Bobby didn't think that there _could_ be angels; it was just that, well, if there were angels out there, where the hell had they been for the last several years? Drinking tea? Pruning each other's feathers?

Demons trying to take over earth, destroying families along the way and killing people right and left? It seemed to Bobby that the damn _angels_ had been pretty lax about doing their job.

Dean held up his hands and raised his eyebrows in question. "These coming off?"

Both wrists were now completely bloody; he looked down at them and wondered just how long it was going to take him to heal this time. A groan slipped past his lips when Castiel shook his head 'no' causing Dean's green eyes to cut over to Bobby. "Seriously?" The old man shrugged and stood up before walking into the other room. "Come on, I haven't tried to kill any of you, right? I let you put these damn things on me. Give a guy some credit here." He grumbled.

"But you're not exactly just a 'guy' are you?" The old hunter mumbled under his breath. "So other than Sam needing help, and you needing a spell why are ya here? There had to be half a dozen witches that could have given you what you're looking for. And I don't exactly play with well with your kind, which my _Dean_ would know." Bobby came back into the room carrying a large leather bound book. He sank down into the old upholstered chair and flipped it open the musty pages, leafing through the old text.

Dean recognized the key of Solomon on the book, which meant that he couldn't even open the damn thing. His eyes shifted to Castiel for a moment before Dean answered simply. "Bobby, I know that your wife was possessed by a demon and that you had to kill her. I _know_ why you hate demons, but I'm not a demon; at least not in the strictest sense of the word. I need your help."

Bobby's eyes softened when he heard the empathy in Dean's soft words. "Fine. What kind of spell do you need?" The old man's eyes came up and he stared at Dean.

"The kind that keeps my soul inside this body, no matter what." Dean answered immediately.

The angel stepped forward, normally he wouldn't get involved, but he didn't want to waste time they didn't have. "Actually you don't."

"What huh, what now?" Dean sputtered, his expression one of complete surprise.

Obviously the angel didn't entirely trust him either because he hadn't revealed any of this prior to walking into Bobby's house.

Castiel sighed at the fact that he was going to have to explain this to him. "You are not 'possessing' a person's body Dean. That is _your_ body, your soul, destined to function as one, which means that you can't be exorcised. But there is a possibility that you could be blasted out of the immediate area using angelic sigils."

"Okay, then how do I keep my ass from getting blown to Never Never Land?" Dean's voice was gruff, but steady, as he glared at the angel. His hands were clenching in frustration at being uninformed about his own _condition_. Sammy's life was on the line here and he didn't have time to play word games with this angel.

"Do not let them paint any sigils in blood, there is great power in certain Enochian symbols." The angel's vivid blue eyes were stoic as he watched his warning settle heavily on the older Winchester brother. "There is no way to counteract the power that resides in those sigils and the blood that binds them."

Dean's eyes flickered over to Castiel and then drifted back toward Bobby. "Okay, well that sucks out loud. So how to we counteract the demon blood, I assume, they've been pouring down my brother's throat?" This got the angels attention, his eyes flashed in Dean's direction and he took a step forward.

Bobby gaped in stunned silence at Dean. "Demon blood?"

"How much do you know?" Castiel asked hesitantly.

Dean lifted his eyebrow. Bobby decided it was almost comical watching him stare at the angel in silent anger.

"What is it you think they took Sam for?" Dean ground past his rapidly rising emotions.

It was obvious that he thought that Castiel had asked a seriously stupid question. The angel frowned with growing irritation. "I know why they took him. But I fail to see what counteracting the demon blood will do. If they've succeeded in feeding Sam enough, nothing we do will stop the catalyst from altering who and what your brother is."

"You don't know that." The hybrid hissed before taking a menacing step toward the angel. His eyes had shifted to an inky black with tiny pinpricks of green shining through.

Bobby had never seen anything like it and now he a whole new set of questions. "What the hell does demon blood do?" He'd never heard that demon blood had any effect on people at all.

Dean inhaled before leveling a steady glare at the angel; he turned toward Bobby and shifted his shoulders to alleviate the discomfort of the cuffs. "To a normal human? Not a damn thing." He looked directly at Castiel before continuing. "To Sam? A whole hell of a lot."

"Not much information to go on, you wanna elaborate here?" Bobby complained gruffly. It wasn't often that he was on the receiving end of a lesson where the supernatural was concerned. But he had no clue what they were dealing with and he sure as hell didn't know what Azazel had done when he'd snuck into Sam's nursery that night.

The incredulous expression plastered on Bobby's face would have been funny if Dean hadn't been deadly serious about what he needed. He knew that to protect both Sam and himself, they needed to counteract whatever those dick angels had done to his brother. He felt the anger surge toward the surface; he hated this, all of this. Dean dropped his eyelids momentarily while he struggled to control his violent emotions. When he opened them the black had receded and his normal jade colored eyes stared back. The mere thought that those bastards were likely doing to Sam what they'd done to him in hell, made his stomach turn in fury.

" _To_ Sam? That means what exactly?" The old hunter finally asked his light blue gaze tracking between the angel and Dean. Bobby and Castiel were throwing questions out right and left and frankly they'd already burned through Dean's last nerve at this point.

"Azazel. Demon blood. Sam as a baby. Mom burning on the ceiling, any of this ringing some bells? Do I really need to go on? Come on, Bobby. You're smart enough to piece this shit together."

Bobby was speechless that the kid could talk about his mom and his brother so callously. He supposed that it must be the demon part of Dean. That thought sent a shiver rattling through him. "Uh yeah, I seem to remember something like that, but I didn't know about the demon blood. You and yer daddy seemed to have forgotten to mention that part."

Dean rolled his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath at the expression on both of their faces. _Come on feathers, if you're all knowing, you should already know what I want and why._ He thought silently.

"Hold on a dang minute, how is any of this going to help Sam? Yer a demon? And an angel? What the hell were you thinkin' Dean?" Bobby answered briskly.

He turned an icy glare on the hunter and spoke very slowly and deliberately. "I was thinking that there is _nothing_ more important than Sammy." He grappled with his emotions for several moments before continuing. "Bobby, I don't have time to explain the ins and outs of what I am, ask me again later when Sam's life ain't hangin' in the balance. Bobby, I promise I will never lie to you, but I have to find my brother before those bastards twist his soul into something…" He trailed off before finally finishing, "Like me." Dean's lips twitched and muscle jumped in his jaw at the thought of what they could do to Sam before he could get there. It was one thing to mess with him; it was something else altogether to mess with Sammy. "Which means that I can't be vulnerable to either angels or demons."

"Dean you cannot do this. If you alter the 'grace' inside you it could destroy your soul. We do not know what will happen. God never intended for the human soul to be split like this." Castiel said as he stood near the door, his fingers twitching at his side in agitation. The angel understood that if the grace were burned or yanked away from Dean's blackened soul it would leave him with nothing but the fury and hatred that were left after his time in hell.

He also knew that Zachariah and Raphael had other plans for the betrayer, plans that Castiel wasn't privy to. There was a good chance that the angel that had given up part of their grace would have a few things in store for Dean, at least for his physical body. But he had never been privileged to that information.

Dean's troubled eyes rose and met the deep blue of the angel's. "As long as I can hold it together long enough to get Sam out? Whatever happens after that, I'll deal." His shoulders didn't sag under the weight of his commitment, not like they would have before. He was different after his time in hell, stronger and more focused.

Bobby looked down at his hands to hide the onslaught of emotions rolling around inside him. That comment had sounded so much like _his_ Dean that it made his chest ache with loss. He licked his lips and pulled off his cap before beating it against his thigh in frustration. He wasn't sure that he should help, but it was looking more and more like this _was_ Dean Winchester. The more Bobby listened the more he could hear remnants of the boy he'd helped John raise. And that person would never hurt Sam. But Dean was more than a person now, now he was something that they hunted and killed. If he were really honest with himself if Bobby didn't know Dean, he would want to hunt him.

Pulling in a ragged breath, Bobby turned toward Dean. "For Sam." he agreed gruffly.

Dean nodded his acceptance of what the old hunter was able to offer. It was more than he'd hoped for and probably more than Dean deserved. "For Sam." He agreed softly. Dean had known that there was a good chance that Bobby wouldn't help him, but he'd banked on the old man's sentimentality.

"So before I can find a spell, I need to know exactly what you are. How you tick?" His gaze cut over to the man in the trench coat and then back to Dean expecting an answer. "You keep talking about 'grace'." He tilted his head and stood up to grab the abandoned bottle of whiskey from the far end of the table. Sitting back he poured himself a generous glass. "So what is _that_?"

Castiel started to speak, but Dean glared him into silence. The angel simply lifted his hands in surrender.

"It's what powers up an angel." The angelic being's eyebrows rose and he looked seriously irritated at the rather simplistic explanation of what he was. "Like a Power Ranger. Or a rechargeable battery." Dean finished with a cocky grin and a shoulder shrug.

"I don't know what a _power ranger_ is, and grace is nothing like a _battery_ rechargeable or otherwise _._ " Castiel corrected, his irritation evident on his generally stoic face.

Bobby shook his head and tried not to smile at Dean's description. _Yeah, definitely some version of Dean Winchester, nobody can irritate people as fast as Dean can_. He thought with amusement. "Okay, so you're not a toy or a Duracell battery. But how does what you possess change what-" He glanced over at Dean before continuing. "What he is?"

"Dean was granted part of an angel's grace. That grace holds the demonic side of his soul under control. If it were to be removed, Dean would become exactly what hell made him." The icy blue gaze shifted to Dean as he tilted his head to the side. "A sadistic killer and a master torturer. He would have no regard for human life beyond what he thinks he can gain from them."

Bobby's eyes widened, he looked over at Dean and raised an eyebrow in question. Dean simply shrugged. He had no answers for the old man. He didn't have a clue what he would be without the angelic side of his soul. It had been given to him before he had become a full-fledged demon, so he'd always had that 'angel on his shoulder'. That still small voice urging him to stay strong, and it had sounded remarkably like Sam.

Not that it had made being tortured any easier, but it had given him hope that he would make it out of hell and get back to his brother.

"Okay…" Bobby inhaled, stood up, and walked into the other room again. Dean furrowed his eyebrows before following the old hunter.

He was just about to tap Bobby on the shoulder when he was instantly rendered immobile. At first he thought that the cuffs had burned through some nerves or something, but as he looked up, he groaned. On the ceiling was a large 'key of Solomon'. He'd completely forgotten about the key that had been painted there years earlier. Dean should have remembered; he'd used the damn thing to capture Meg when she'd decided to take Sammy's body for a joy ride. "Uh…Bobby…"

"Forget it was there?" Bobby asked without turning around.

"No, I was just distracted with the fact that my brother is being douched up by the resident dicks of heaven." Dean quipped.

Bobby turned, the haunted look in his eyes slammed into Dean and he _felt_ the sadness churning inside the hold hunter like a cyclone. "Last two years ain't exactly been easy."

Dean was startled to find that he immediately felt bad. He'd known that his death would be devastating for Sammy, but he'd neglected to think how it would affect Bobby. In front of him was the evidence that it hadn't been well received. "Right."

Bobby grabbed a broom handle and scraped away a tiny part of the paint. Dean felt the sigil's power release him; he pulled in a slow breath of gratitude. Bobby could've kept him there if he'd wanted to, thank god that hadn't been the case. "Thanks."

"Okay, so a spell that can counteract demon blood? I'm gonna have to do some research; that's not one of my usual gigs." Flipping through the pages he stopped on a spell. "This might slow down what's happening to Sam." He frowned as he continued to read; Bobby glanced up at the anxious look on Dean's face. "Dean, I'll find something. In the mean this is something else that you can try."

Raising eyebrow Dean waited for the information. When it wasn't immediately forthcoming, he asked, "Do tell?"

With a sigh, Bobby continued, "You can wean Sam off the blood, same as you do a drug addict."

"Sam isn't a drug addict." Dean defended in a low gravely voice.

Castiel leaned over Bobby's shoulder reading through the spell. When he finished he lifted his eyes, tilted his head and considered the solution. "That may work."

An image of Sam in the white suit reminded Dean that they had to save Sammy no matter the cost. Beyond the simple fact that Dean couldn't lose his brother, the world couldn't afford for him to fail. And as little as those people mattered to Dean, he knew that it would break his softhearted brother to know _he'd_ been the ones to hurt them. "So how do we do that?" Dean was fairly certain he knew the answer to that question, but he _really_ hoped he was wrong.

"Yer half demon, right?" Bobby asked.

That was exactly what Dean had been afraid he would say. "Yeah, _half_."

"Well yer 'half' is better than any 'whole' I can think of, so unless you got a demon kickin' 'round that you trust enough to periodically feed Sam-"

Dean's eyes blew wide at that. There was no way in hell he'd allow some black-eyed bastard to further taint Sammy. He glanced over at Castiel noticing the hesitant expression plastered across his face. "You got something to add feathers?" Dean accused when he recognized the angel's hesitancy.

"Dean, I need to tell you something." Castiel stepped toward Dean; his gaze had taken on a far off look and he trailed off. It was like he was listening to something that only he could hear.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam sagged with exhaustion, the cables he had tried to ignore were grinding against the bones in his wrist and there was somewhat pleasant hum of power settling inside his head. He had no idea how much blood he'd been given at this point. He'd lost count some time ago. He did remember that he'd been forced to shoot a vial of blood with some regularity since they'd taken him. The taste was still coating his throat and floating up through his nose; it was disgusting.

Part of him had thought that maybe angels were the good guys; he'd learned the hard way that they were even bigger dicks than demons. These sons-a-bitches enjoyed torturing him with stories detailing his brother's time in hell. Sam had known some of it, the witch's spell had seen to that, but once Dean had said 'yes'? There had been no more dreams and he'd truly been blind as to the extent of his brother's suffering.

It had honestly scared him; the sadistic things Dean had had to do in order to get out of the pit. Sam had tried to understand what could've happened that would turn his brother into a master torturer. Now he knew the truth and he wished like hell that he didn't, because those asshats had been more than happy to illuminate Sam on every single sordid detail of Dean's time in the demon's care. Sam had been sick for hours after the descriptive narratives and even worse when they'd played it out for him in vibrant Technicolor.

With his head spinning and his stomach threatening to rebel, Sam had been forced to listen to the truth. He now knew what had been _the_ key to breaking his older brother, and it was truly shattering.

"Did you know he tried to fight it? For thousands of years he told everyone and everything to stuff it where the sun don't shine. But in the end, it turns out that Dean is just as weak as any other human; it took some time, but eventually Dean gave in to his _natural_ urges." Raphael taunted as he sauntered around Sam, his fingers trailing over the chains and cables that suspended Sam. His legs tingled with lack of use and his long body felt like it was being stretched in half. And that was when his crappy imagination played one of the ways Dean had been tortured; his brother had been drawn and quartered. And then, inexplicably Dean been made whole again and thencycle started all over again.

Blood dripped down Sam's chin where he'd bitten through his tongue in shock; he hadn't even noticed the liquid as he'd watched the archangel circle. "The soul is a fickle thing and tempting it one way or the other can be tricky business. It can be done though, one simply has to have the right key." He turned and grinned at the young hunter who glared at him. "And do you know want to know what the key was to breaking your altruistic big brother?" Raphael watched as Sam's expression wiped clean, a wall slamming into place as his thoughts drifted to the warm feeling the demon blood was creating deep in his chest. "It was you, Sam. You were the _key_ to destroying your brother's will. I bet it was something to behold, breaking a Winchester. Dean was one of the strongest souls they'd ever had in the pit and those demons took great _pleasure_ in ripping apart everything and every part of him that they could. And it happened for years Sam; thousands of years. That kind of destruction takes a toll. How sure are you that what came back from hell is 100% pure Dean?"

Sam's attention was catapulted back into the current conversation and he shook his head at the absurdity of what the angel was saying. _It can't be true_. Dean had already given up everything to try and save him. Sam _couldn't_ be the reason that his brother had finally given up the fight for his eternal soul. _Could he?_ "You're lying." He bit out through his clenched teeth.

Raphael shook his head and smiled lazily. "No, I'm not, and I believe you know that. You were the image that ripped him apart every hour of every day once Alistair realized he couldn't break Dean any other way. God knows he tried. It was your hands that pulled his insides out. Your hands that thrust the meat hooks through his sides. Yout hands that held him immobile as the other demons used him in every sense of the word." He was enjoying telling Sam all of this. He was getting a thrill out of detailing out just what _Sam_ had done to his brother and it was sickening.

Sam had no idea how his brother could even look at him. Why the hell had Dean been so keen on getting back when it had been Sam's face that had tortured him into submission?

A part of Sam hated the monologing and he'd been eager for the archangel to leave, but he had been wrong; being left alone with his rampaging thoughts was way more self-destructive than being distracted by the dick angel.

Flashes of cities burning, the skulls of humans being crushed beneath the feet of the ones still living burned through his mind like wild fire. People that weren't _people_ stalked the streets; killing every human they came across. Sam watched the scene play out like some goddammed cinema feature. A memory niggled at the edges of his brain, Croatoan. Shit, the disease that Azazel had spread after Sam found out about his _destiny;_ the one that he had been immune to because of the yellow-eyed demon. It had been a funky version of a virus, spreading through blood contact before turning everyone into a raging zombie psychopath.

But it wasn't the creatures stalking the streets that terrified him; it was the knowledge that _he_ had been the one to release this on the world. Between himself and Dean they had unleashed the apocalypse and Sam had been the key to all of it. His likeness had been used to torture Dean into submission and that had kicked off the whole thing.

His vision dimmed as the pain and stress of his current condition nearly flattened him with despair.

SPN SPN SPN

 _And there in the center of the burning chaos was, him, but not him. Sam's body was standing in what looked like a garden and he was different. Nothing about Sam looked human._ He glanced around the surrounding area; it was almost like he was there in the garden, not hanging in an abandoned gold and white room.

" _I wondered when you'd show up." Dean's voice caught his attention and he turned with a smile and menacing stare._

" _I've been waiting for you." Not-Sam responded coldly, his eyes were expressionless as he stared across the distance separating them._

" _You know that's a cheesy line, right? Whatever man, I'm here." Dean looked around; his multi-colored eyes blank as he took in the brilliant multitude of colors inside the rose garden. The sickly sweet smell of the flower was something that he would never forget. Not that his lifespan would extend much beyond this particular moment._

 _Not-Sam tilted his head, long brown locks flopped into his eyes and he suddenly looked like Sammy. Dean's heart clenched and he inhaled to steady the trip-hammer rhythm that threatened to burst from his chest._

 _But the voice that answered him couldn't have been further from Sam's warm tones. "You know there is no going back?"_

 _Dean nodded._

 _A smile curved his thin lips. "Alright. Bring me the blade." Not-Sam held out his hand and waited for the demon-angel to drop the curiously etched blade into his opened palm._

 _Dean gritted his teeth, his fingers clasping the blade tighter, he knew what handing this knife over to Lucifer would cost. "And Sam will be safe?" He furrowed his eyebrows and then looked over at the thing possessing his brother. Unlike him Sam's transformation had been fast and complete._

" _Yes. If you give up the grace and your vessel, I promise little Sammy will be safe, and as a bonus I'll make it painless for you." He circled Dean, his white suit catching the rays of the setting sun. The malice that was etched into his blue-green gaze was so evil that Dean would have had to be blind to miss it._

" _No you won't." Dean countered. He knew better. He'd been a serious pain in the fallen angel's ass and there was no way that he was getting out this without serious pain._

 _Not-Sam smiled. "No I won't. But how about I don't let Sammy watch as I tear you apart?" The smirk was so out of place on Sam's face that Dean wasn't sure what this thing inside his brother was. It was the very essence of evil._

 _Dean swallowed, the two sides of his soul had found a strange balance over the last five years and he was far more similar to a human than either an angel or a demon at this point; a human with extraordinary powers but a human all the same. The angels were terrified of what he was and none more so than the one that currently possessed Sam's body. Dean had been unable to rescue his brother from that white room and Sam had been tortured into saying yes, thinking it was the only way to save his brother. The only way to resolve the possession was to sacrifice what Dean had become and ensure his brother was given back control of his body._

 _Dean had failed; they'd planned on slamming the gates of hell. Locking all of those cheeky bastards away for eternity, and then locking the douchebag angels away in heaven to do the job they were created for, running heaven. All the archangels would have to be sent to the 'cage'; it was the one place that had been designed to hold the explosive power. But things had gone so far sideways that it wasn't funny and now Dean had been trying to recover his brother for over five years._

 _He'd had help along the way, Castiel, Bobby, Jody Mills and many others. But he'd never gotten as close to Sam as he was right now._

 _They'd discovered that for him to save his little brother he would have to give up his life. Or more accurately the power that had been created when he'd accepted both angel grace and sadistic demon mojo. Because only the sacrifice of something with equal power to an archangel could make the spell work; the spell that Bobby had died for. Pain launched through him at the remembered loss of the old hunter. Without him and Castiel, Dean would've fallen off the delicate edge of sanity he had been balancing on._

 _Sam wrapped his fingers around the cool hilt of the long bronze blade and turned toward the only hybrid that had ever been created. His blood sang at the thought of driving the blade into Dean's heart. Savored the idea of feeling the warm rush of blood trickle down his hand as the knife plunged deep into the heart of Sam's older brother. He could already taste the power that would be released into that blade the moment Dean's heart stopped beating, and he couldn't wait the haul Sammy back from the room he'd stuffed him in 5 years earlier. After all, he'd begged to see his brother one more time, and who was Lucifer to deny his 'host' anything?_

SPN SPN SPN

Sam snapped back to the present with a gasp of horrified surprise. _Jesus, I felt everything. All of it._ Not only had he felt the angel's emotions, he'd also felt Dean's. He'd felt the slow acceptance and the willingness to sacrifice himself. He'd felt everything that his brother was giving up for him and it made him want to vomit.

Good God, he had _wanted_ to destroy his brother. The joy that _he_ was going to take in driving that etched bronze blade through his brother's heart was worse than anything he'd ever experienced. Lucifer had pulled him to the front of his conscious mind just to witness the ecstatic glee of destroying the last person that could save Sam. The guilt was palpable. Sam groaned when the power pushing at his barriers of his mind spiked causing him to clench his eyelids closed in an attempt to control it. The whole thing was making his stomach turn over and he couldn't control the bile racing up his throat seeking a release. He'd had no food for the last three days, only blood. So when it dribbled down his chest it looked a bit like a horror scene as he retched more blood from his system.

"Sammy?!" Dean's pain rough voice cut through Sam's delusions and he forced his gaze up expecting to see another angel.

"Dean?" He whispered, the suspicion hanging heavy between them. Shock bolted through him when Sam saw his brother rush forward worry etched in his features; the angel flanked him into the room. It struck Sam as weird that his brother was actually _with_ the angel.

"We do not have a lot of time Dean." Castiel advised briskly, he was staring at the walls like they were going to disappear, or explode, at any moment.

Dean turned an angry glare on the angel and held his hands up, the cuffs dangling from his damaged wrists. "Get these the hell off me." He growled in a deadly voice. There was no mistaking that if Castiel chose to ignore him this time there would be blood; and it wouldn't be Dean's.

With a huff the angel pulled the key from his pocket and released the cuff securing Dean's right hand. A burst of power plowed through Dean and suddenly he understood the angel's anxiousness. He could literally feel the other angels; he knew that they were trying to break through the spell work Bobby had set up. Their righteous indignation, tainted with anger at being thwarted by a mere human, a lowly angel and a deceitful hybrid.

Ignoring what he felt pressing against the spell Dean looked up at Sam's suspended body and fury worker through him. Dean's face was a mask of emotions when he reached up and carefully removed the iron cuffs from around Sam's ravaged wrists.

Dean felt the restraints release and he caught his brother's lanky frame before the kid could collapse to the marble. "It's okay, Sammy, I got you."

He was somewhat surprised by the power of that simple statement. It had to have something to do with his angelic side, because he would never condone such 'chick flick' sentiments otherwise. Or else it was simply tapping into that part of him that their father had molded since he'd been 4 years old. Either way Dean was glad that he could feel it; glad he could feel anything at all.

A brilliant starburst of light flared in the corner and the oldest Winchester knew that this wasn't going to end well. Careful of his brother's wounds he turned toward the gaggle of angels that had just broken through Bobby's spell. The spell had been tapped into Dean's latent power and some of that back channeled into Dean. His cuffs burned the hell outta his left wrist and he swore under his breath. When this was all over Castiel and him were going to have a long talk about these bloody damn cuffs.

"Isn't that sweet. A demon pretending to care about a human." Zachariah's snide voice flooded across the room and Dean's gaze swept in the direction of a table near the far wall. Standing there, leaning casually against the wall, was the chief asshat and three archangels surrounding him, and they all looked pissed. "Guess I get to hand you over a bit earlier than expected, Dean." He grinned. "After I get a little pay back that is." He shifted his anger to Castiel and frowned. "As for you, brother. Michael wants to see you."

Castiel didn't say anything, he simply stared at his brothers; a blank expression plastered across his face. One of the archangels watched with rising interest in the power play inside the room. It occurred to Castiel that he wasn't necessarily here to help Zachariah, he more curious about Dean than anything else.

Clenching his teeth together, Dean turned slowly and glared at the balding man in the expensive grey business suit. The room suddenly felt too small for the six of them and Dean wanted the hell out, now. Ignoring the rush of blinding pain, Dean hefted Sam onto his right shoulder and scanned the room for the promised exit. It had been the last part of Bobby's spell and it should have broken the angelic warding surrounding this place, but he wasn't seeing any evidence of that. Castiel threw a look in his direction before moving to place himself closer to Dean than the hybrid was strictly comfortable with.

"Dude, personal space." Dean whispered harshly.

The angel turned and narrowed his eyes before Dean felt something being pressed into his free hand. It took a moment before he realized what the angel was doing. The small metal key felt strange and a bit tingly in his palm and his eyes flicked up to meet Castiel's subtle nod. He was offering Dean his freedom in the form of that odd key. Zachariah was so intent on his own plans that he failed to see Dean carefully unlock the remaining cuff, but he definitely heard the metallic clang as they hit the marble floor.

All four angels were instantly moving in their direction, but with Dean's power unleashed, they were far too slow to stop the escape. By the time he'd reached the spot where they'd been, Dean, Sam and Castiel were gone and in their place was nothing but a set of etched handcuffs. Bending over Zachariah picked them up, twirling them on his fingers as his gaze swept toward the one wall that now contained a door.

All three archangels looked at him, waiting for him to say something.

"Son of a bitch." Zachariah hissed into the empty room.

Gabriel raised a golden eyebrow and leaned against the wall, not bothering to hide his amusement at the situation Zachariah now found himself in. "Michael is not gonna like this."

Raphael inhaled the irritation that was now pouring out of him; he turned the full force of his frustration on the lower angel staring at him. "You never should've convinced Michael to get involved with this plan. You'll be lucky if he doesn't burn you to a crisp over this."

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. It would be greatly appreciated.**

 **Author's Note:** _So the cuffs are off, what is that going to mean for Dean? And how will they deal with Sam's condition? Stay tuned._


	14. Blank Spaces

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 14**

 _Blank Spaces_

Pain lurched through Dean as he and Sam materialized inside the motel room, his knees nearly buckling under their combined weight. The smell of brimstone was heavy in his nose and he wasn't exactly enjoying the nostalgia that came with it. His eyes slid to the empty bed nearest the bathroom and he sighed before gently settling Sam's limp body on the green bedspread. His eyebrows drew in when he saw the damage those damn angels had manage to inflict in the little time that they'd held Sam captive. A burning fury of impotent rage coursed through him and he felt it slip along his nerves only to settle like lead in his gut. Their family was cursed. It didn't matter what anyone else thought; he knew the truth. It would never matter what choices they made, fate had pre-determined that their lives would be complete and utter shit.

The soft flutter of wings alerted Dean to the arrival of one of the angels. Turning he was grateful to see that it was Castiel, Dean wasn't sure that he could deal with the damn archangel at the moment. Ignoring the pain that still burned through his body like wildfire he pushed at the boundaries of his power. It expanded outward before enveloping the entire motel, not just their room, and effectively hid their presence from all things supernatural. At least for the moment he could protect his baby brother.

A soft moan from the bed pulled Dean's eyes around. He felt something release inside him at the tangible evidence that his brother was regaining consciousness. He limped toward the other bed and sank down into the slightly soft mattress. Swallowing thickly he shoved down his own pain and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A memory plunked itself into his mind and he found his throat tightening.

 _John had been gone for three hours and he wasn't expected home for at least two days. Dean was fifteen and Sammy was eleven. They'd been told to stay in the Pine Tree Lodge until their father returned. But there had been a traveling carnival that had set up shop just down the street. Dean wanted to go so badly that he could almost taste the cotton candy he was craving._

 _His green eyes shifted to where Sammy was reading a book at the small table in the kitchenette. He wondered if he could tell his brother that he was headed to grab them some food and then check out the carnival on his own. A twinge of guilt pricked the edges of his conscience, but he squashed it with thoughts of the hot chicks that were likely crawling all over the venue. If there was something that he craved more than sweets, it was the company of the girls he'd seen throwing longing glances his way._

 _He was still young enough not to have done much with the girls, but he was well on his way to knowing exactly what "third base" entailed. With the decision made he turned toward Sam, "Hey I'm going to run out to the grocery store and grab some dinner."_

 _Sam didn't even look up; he just nodded and kept reading. A smile inched onto Dean's face as he realized that he wasn't going to have to explicitly lie to his brother. "I'll be back in a few."_

 _Another grunt from the general direction of the table was the last thing Dean heard as he slipped out the front door. He quickly locked the deadbolt from the outside and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The air was crisp with the approach of fall and he smiled as he blew out a breath. The white puff of mist was thick and heavy as he broached the cloud and walked along the roadside._

 _Several hours later Dean bopped toward the motel, a bag of cotton candy in one hand and a foot long hotdog for Sammy in the other. He was whistling AC/DC's Back in Black, a smile spread across his face as he thought of "Kimmi's" soft cherry flavored lips. Dean stepped over the concrete parking bumper and stumbled to a halt; the door to their motel room was sitting slightly ajar. If there was one thing that their father had drilled into both of them it was the need to keep the doors closed and locked against the things they hunted._

 _Dropping the food he ran the last two steps and shoved the heavy wooden door open. Dean's breath froze in his chest when he saw the state of the room. The beds were tossed, their duffels had been riffled through and the small television was lying on its side. The static sound of the room was the only noise._

 _Fear climbed up his spine as he frantically spun his eyes around the clearly empty room. "Sammy?" He knew he wasn't going to get an answer, but he hoped like hell he was wrong._

 _Dean ran forward and started throwing pieces of the motel furniture aside. He could feel failure settling over his shoulders like a mantle. His father was going to kill him if anything happened to his brother. One rule. His father only had one binding, 'never to be broken' rule, 'protect Sammy'. It was the cardinal law that governed everything in Dean's life and he'd traded that for a few hours of freedom._

 _The saliva turned to ash in his mouth and he raced out the door toward the motel office. The old man that ran the joint was watching Judge Judy, his hand in a box of Cracker Jacks. "That's right lady, you owe your landlord that money. Better pay up nosey Nellie." He laughed out loud and slapped his thigh at his own joke._

" _Hey Jerry, you seen my kid brother?" Dean slammed into the high counter his gasps for air interrupting his question._

" _What?" The old man leaned forward and pushed his thick glasses up his nose._

 _Dean huffed, "My brother Sam, you seen him?"_

" _Not since yesterday." His hazy gray eyes shifted back to the television and he leaned back in the old brown chair._

 _Spinning on his heels, Dean rushed from the office back toward the room as every single awful thing that could have happened to his brother assaulted his over-active imagination. Images of Sam lying dead at the hands of a Wendigo or a Vampire played through his mind with devastating clarity. "Sam?!" he called._

 _Shoving down his fear he turned toward the thick forest of trees behind the motel. The sun was setting and Dean knew that his father would be returning soon and if Sam was not waiting in the room with Dean; there'd be hell to pay. He ran to the stove and reached behind it pulling out the double barrel shotgun. In one smooth motion he cocked the weapon and sprinted toward the path leading into the rapidly darkening woods._

 _Off in the distance Dean heard a wolf cry and he pulled in a shaky breath as he ran along the dirt trail. "Sammy!" he cried when he skidded around a corner and he hit the ground, hard. The levi material on his knees split and rocks dug into the soft flesh. Dean didn't feel a damn thing; he rolled and came back to his feet in a motion that would make a stuntman proud. His feet pounded along the path as the light dimmed to nothing but the last streams of the day._

 _With his heart thrumming and his eyes stinging with the unshed tears, Dean ran past the point where his lungs were begging for air and his side was singing with pain. He could feel his stomach cramping with the need to stop, but that wasn't an option. Sammy was missing and there was no way in hell he would stop until either he died from lack of air or he found his brother._

 _Stinging fire raced along his heels and crawled up his legs causing his calves to cramp painfully. The daylight faded into night and Dean found he couldn't even see the path anymore. How the hell was he supposed to see Sam when he couldn't even see his own feet?_

 _A faint call was the only thing that could have halted his headlong flight. Skidding to a stop, Dean held his breath as he listened harder. Again he heard a distant call and it was rimmed with audible fear. Without another thought Dean changed his direction and headed into the vastly dense forest, listening for the quiet call._

 _It was growing louder when a root tangled around Dean's foot and sent him crashing to the forest floor. He heard the 'pop' of his ankle as he hit the ground and intense fiery pain spiraled up his right leg. "Son of a bitch." He swore as he automatically reached down and cradled the ankle._

 _The cry was growing fainter and that drove Dean back to his feet despite the intensity of the pain. He ignored the way his body listed and his stomach clenched violently; his vision narrowed at the edges when he tried to put weight on the leg. "Sammy!" he cried into the encroaching darkness._

 _There was a brief pause and then he heard a soft, "Dean?" It was almost swallowed by the quiet stillness of the forest._

 _It was the sound of Sam's scared voice drove him past the point where a normal person would've quit. He couldn't fail. This was his job. God, it was the only job that had driven every decision he'd ever made, protect his little brother. It didn't matter what it cost him personally, he would give everything he inside him to keep Sammy safe._

 _He peeled his flannel shirt off and quickly grabbed the branches from a nearby tree. The moonlight was beginning to cascade through the thick canopy of pine trees; just enough light for him to fashion a splint. His ankle seared with the pain as he tenderly put weight on it. This was going to seriously suck._

 _The cold air bit into his unprotected flesh and he shivered. But Sam was out in this cold too and he'd been out here longer than Dean. 'If only I hadn't been so selfish. I could've taken him with me, but I just wanted a few hours that were mine. Dad should beat the hell outta me when he gets back.'_

 _He knew that the chances of that were pretty damn good since he'd obviously severely sprained or perhaps broken his ankle, which meant no training or running for a few weeks. So John's next method of teaching Dean was at the business end of a leather belt, those had never been his finest moments. But every single time had been because he'd failed to keep Sam safe, the striga had been the first time John had lost his temper. Dean hadn't been able to sit down for a week._

 _Hell, if he got Sammy back in one piece this time, Dean would hand his dad the belt himself. Inhaling, he started in the direction he'd heard his little brother's scared cries. "Sam?!"_

 _There was a brief pause and Dean stopped all moment, including his breathing, to listen._

" _Dean, help me."_

' _Oh thank God.' He thought, but those three words lit a fire under Dean that erupted into a blazing inferno. He started again with his faltering gate and nearly missed the large natural cavern hole. Halting he peered into the darkness, he couldn't see a damn thing. "Sam?"_

" _Dean, is that you?" Sam's small voice traveled on the night air, Dean could hear the fear and relief pouring through Sam's response and he pulled in the first real breath he'd taken since he'd seen the open door of their motel room. "You okay?" he called._

 _There was another pause and then, "I think I broke something. My sides hurt."_

 _Knowing his brother was down there and injured sent a jolt of fear along Dean's spine. He cast his eyes around desperately hoping he'd see something that could help him rescue his little brother. When he didn't see anything he groaned. He hadn't left the motel prepared for a rescue. He had no idea how deep the hole was that Sammy had fallen into and he sure as hell didn't know how badly his brother was hurt. What if he'd broken his back or something equally bad?_

" _Sam how did you end up out here?" He sank down next to the opening and strained his eyes hoping to see some movement, anything to let him know Sam's location._

" _Some guy came to the motel. Said he was a hunter and needed to talk to dad. I tried to close the door, but he pushed his way in. I managed to bolt past him and then I just ran." A hitch in his voice let Dean know just how terrified his brother had been._

 _Anger surged violently inside Dean. He'd left Sammy alone and then his brother had had to run for his life because of it. The self-loathing was hot on the trail of the anger and quickly extinguished the rage under the smothering blanket of insecurity and guilt._

 _Sam continued in a strained voice, "I was running and the forest floor gave way and I fell."_

" _How far down do you think you are?" It didn't really matter but Dean needed to keep Sam talking. He didn't have any way to get Sam out and he sure as hell wasn't leaving him to go get the gear. Part of his prayed that his father would be able to track his flight through the woods. Although he had no way of knowing exactly when John would show back up. Their father had been less than reliable regarding time away lately._

" _I don't know. It felt like forever before I hit the ground. There's water in here Dean."_

 _Dean sighed, "Yeah, it's probably an old mineshaft or something. Can you see anything around you?"_

 _Silence and then, "No. It's too dark." There was another pause, "You don't have any gear with you do you?"_

 _Failure nearly flattened him when he heard his brother's resigned voice. Did Sam really think that he would just leave him there? "No." he finally answered. "Are you hurt?"_

 _Sam didn't answer him for several moments, finally, "You need to go get someone." Fear weaved through the brave words as Sam tried to be grown up about the whole situation. "I'm cold Dean." He finished softly._

 _Hearing Sam's timid voice sent another wash of regret through him and he swallowed the thickness building in his throat. "It'll be okay Sammy, promise."_

 _A wet sounding cough was his only answer and it had Dean scrambling closer to the edge of the hole. "Sam?" Nothing. "Sam!" Again no answer, "SAMMY!"_

Dean slammed back into the present with almost a tangible 'snap'. The hitched breathing from the bed told him that Sam wasn't feeling too well and that just made him feel guiltier about his return into his brother's life. There was a part of him that had truly believed Sam would be better off without him. Instead of returning to a functional brother with a life, he'd come back to a broken man that was barely surviving. It had been an unpleasant realization that Sam was actually more vulnerable when Dean _wasn't_ in his life. Dean hadn't yet figured out what to do with that piece of information.

His gaze dropped to his brother's battered face and he cringed at the damage. If he had full control of his power maybe he could… Sam's eyelids slid slowly apart revealing glassy eyes that rolled around until they finally focused on Dean's face. Sam scrunched his face up when he realized where they were, and where they weren't. "Where are we?" he muttered softly.

Castiel stood in the small kitchenette area of the motel room, his blank eyes watching the two brothers with an intensity that made Sam wonder what it had cost them to get away from the other angels.

"Motel." Dean answered in a low growl. He reached across the distance between them before yanking his hand back when Sam flinched away involuntarily. Dean hadn't expected the pain of rejection to flare so fully inside his chest. "Sorry." He mumbled, before leaning away.

Sam saw the pain flash through his brother's eyes. What he hadn't expected was for a dark flare of black to swirl through the green, almost but not quite eclipsing it. "Dean?" Sam asked when his brother stood up and moved on unsteady legs toward the door.

The demon-angel turned back and forced a wry smile, "It's okay Sammy. I'll be right outside." With that he grabbed the doorknob and Sam sucked in a breath at the ravaged skin he saw running along his brother's wrists. His eyes dropped to his own wrists and he was surprised to see them wrapped neatly in white gauze. He groaned lightly at the evidence that his brother was more interested in taking care of him than himself.

Dean ignored Sam's huffed sound before limping out the door gently pushing it closed behind him.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. It would be greatly appreciated.**

 **Author's Note:** _Sorry about the long time between chapters, out of town with little to no internet connection. Enjoy the new chapter._


	15. Revelations

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on Wednesdays and Sundays, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 15**

 _Revelations_

Sam wasn't sure what exactly had happened, his thoughts were still fuzzy and rimmed with confusion. He remembered seeing Dean and the other angel inside that damned white room, but he hadn't expected to be whisked away at the last minute. It occurred to him that be shouldn't be that surprised; Dean was always full 'hail Mary' plays and this had been no exception to that. Apparently being dead and a demon-angel hybrid _thing_ hadn't changed his brother's ability to weasel his way out of almost any situation.

Sam wanted to say something as soon as Dean exited the room, but the sudden painful clenching of his stomach had him changing his mind about opening his mouth. He was fairly certain that the blood he'd been forced to drink would be making a reappearance and he didn't want anyone worrying about him; they had bigger fish to fry at the moment. That whole _end of the world_ thing. His throat constricted at the thought of the metallic aftertaste of the blood, it was still rolling around inside his mouth from before. Blinking several times to clear his vision, Sam was finally able to bring the angel's face into focus.

Castiel watched the youngest Winchester with interest. He could already see the changes happening on a cellular level within Sam; he would never be the same, _could_ never be the same. He wondered if the pale human sitting on the bed in front of him could also feel those changes? _Possibly_ , but it was more likely that Sam wasn't fully aware of what Castiel's brothers had started when they'd forced him to ingest that blood.

Sam shifted and then hissed when he felt the ruined wrecked flesh along his own wrists and grimaced. "How did you get me out?" he asked weakly, carefully moving into a more comfortable position. Part of him wasn't sure if he really wanted to know how they'd gotten him out. He'd seen the damage to his brother's body and he knew that no one had escaped unscathed.

The angel lifted a dark eyebrow, " _We_ didn't get you out. Dean did." He interlaced his fingers and stared intently at the man looking to him for answers.

His response brought Sam's blue-green gaze up; he glanced at the door before looking back that angel in surprise. "Dean? How did he- Didn't you bind his powers with those cuffs?"

"I did. But in light of the odds we were faced with, in trying to rescue you, it was in our best interest to allow Dean some latitude regarding your rescue."

Sam swallowed thickly at that and sank back against the lumpy pillows. Nausea roiled in his stomach, and it had very little to do with the blood. _Dean did all that?_ Just how powerful was his brother? A surge of bile forced Sam's battered body into action and he rolled over toward the bathroom. He pressed the back of his hand against his lips in a vain attempt to hold back the _sick_ , but it wouldn't be contained. He stumbled through the door into the bathroom and dropped heavily to his knees before his stomach heaved.

He had no concept of time as his body rebelled against what had been done to him. His head spun with the violent retching and his sides ached painfully. Weakly he reached up and fumbled around until his long fingers landed on the lever, he flushed away the evidence. He was intent on his own misery so he missed the soft footsteps just outside the bathroom.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked quietly from the direction of the door.

Sam hadn't realized that he'd forgotten to close it when his stomach had refused to continue holding anything down. He heard his brother's concern in that question, but he was afraid if he so much as moved he'd be puking up his intestines.

There was a soft intake of breath before a cold wet washcloth was laid over his sweaty neck. The cool scratchy material felt so good and Sam sagged forward, his fingers barely managing to flush the toilet again before he rolled to his side and scooted against the bathtub. He didn't have much of a rest though before his gut spasmed and he forced his rebellious body to move before retching into the bowl of the snow-white toilet. Luckily the motel seemed to have a fairly strict cleanliness policy, since everything was pristine white, and _bonus_ it didn't smell like urine.

Ten minutes later Sam's sides were burning and his stomach was still clenching around nothing. He finally sank back to his butt a second time and brought shaky hands up, scrubbing along his jaw slowly. His whole body felt like it was on fire and freezing at the same time. Sam's vision was pulsing in and out of focus and his head was thudding like a freight train smashing into a brick wall over and over again. He took a moment and just focused on filling and emptying his lungs, hoping that it would help ease the nausea. It didn't.

Dean hadn't said anything else; he'd simply laid the cool cloth on his brother's shaking body before backing silently out of the room. Sam hadn't gotten a good look at his brother, but he knew that Dean couldn't be in great condition either. He'd been zapped pretty well by those angelic handcuffs and Sam was fairly certain Dean wouldn't just _bounce back_ from that. The damage had been severe and his brother had already told him that he couldn't heal himself.

Sam could hear voices just outside the small room; he cast his eyes at the door. It was leaning shut and he groaned as pain rocketed through his head. _Must have been Dean._ He thought silently.

"Is he going to be okay?" That was definitely the worried voice of his big brother. He could hear the deep baritone rasp of Dean's whiskey hardened voice. It penetrated through the door with an ease that wasn't surprising if one knew the eldest Winchester brother. He heard the angel answer in a low voice.

"Probably not. Sam is a unique case, just like you. I do not how much blood was given to him, or what the after-effects will be. All of Azazel's children carried different latent abilities within them. But rest assured there will be after-effects." A part of Sam was surprised that his brother had allowed the angel to know their location after the disaster with the other angels. Given Dean's current status as 'enemy numero uno', Sam figured that Dean would've just left the trench coat wearing angel to his fate. But something about whatever Dean had become wasn't playing from any rulebook that Sam had ever heard of; at least where demons were concerned.

"Just what the hell does that mean?" Dean growled angrily. His voice picked up a deadly edge that told Sam his brother was only moments away from losing his temper. That had never been a good thing when he'd been human, but now? It wouldn't bode well for anyone in his brother's warpath.

"It means that Sam has been exposed to a catalyst. His powers have been awakened and they have been fed. His body will demand more and there is very little we can do about that. His condition us not unlike a Vampire when they're first turned."

"Did you just call my brother a fucking _vampire_?" Dean interrupted angrily.

The angel sighed, "I believe that you had a plan for this eventuality, did you not?" Castiel's voice was even, like he was reciting directions from the phonebook. Sam decided that the guy irritated him with his 'even voice' and 'words of wisdom'.

He heard the men shift and then a forced grunt of agreement from Dean before his brother continued. "I wasn't planning on those asshats getting to Sam first and overdosing his system like some banger at his first rave. He's gonna have to be detoxed and that won't be pleasant. I can't risk any kind of addiction."

 _Addiction? What the hell, Dean?_ Sam wondered hazily.

He had just enough warning to throw his head back over the bowl before he was again assaulted with painful dry heaves. He barely heard the door push open, or the gentle hand that settled on his shoulder. The touch might have been unexpected, but the owner was unmistakable. Sam would know Dean's touch from anyone else's in the entire world.

The fact that his dead, partially _demon,_ brother was showing any form of concern about his wellbeing was a bit disconcerting. Sam wanted to believe that Dean was stronger than what had happened to him in Hell, but the part of Sam's brain that knew better was fighting with his heart. And _that_ was the part that desperately wanted to believe in Dean, believe in his innate _goodness_. A glass of water materialized near his left on the side of the bathtub along with two Excedrin migraine.

"These won't cure it, but they will help. Feeling any better?" Dean asked as he handed Sam a towel.

Sam turned miserable eyes in his direction and shook his head. "Not really." He was surprised to see his brother hunching forward, cradling his left arm in a way that told Sam he was still in a hell of a lot of pain. His eyes landed on the burned flesh and he winced in sympathy.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam blindly reached for the pills and the water; Dean scrubbed his hand down his face before taking the glass back when he was done. Dean was trying his damndest to decide how best to approach this rather enormous _hiccup_ in the plan to take down Hell.

It had never been part of Dean's plan to get his brother addicted to either the rush of dark power from demon blood, or the massive methamphetamine-like affects that the blood would have on him. And now, staring at the sweat pouring down his brother's face and the pinched look, Dean understood that he would have to play hardball with his brother for a bit. Kicking the immediate and highly addictive nature of the blood wasn't going to be any kind of fun for Sam, or for him.

His brother stared up at him; Sam's face a mixture of multi-colored bruises that set Dean's blood on racing in anger. Sam had enough on his plate to worry about, and Dean hated that Sammy was being reduced to a pawn between the forces of light and dark.

A small part of Dean's brain wondered just what side of that equation he was on? He reached out with the slowly expanding power inside him, the emotional turmoil inside his brother tore at him. Dean's eyes flickered toward the door, where the Castiel stood silently watching the Winchester brothers.

"Dude, private family matter here." Dean reached out with his booted toe and kicked the door closed.

He heard the angel huff before soft footfalls told him that Castiel had walked away. He couldn't help the slight smile that pulled at the corner of his lips. The smile died when he looked back at Sam's hunched form, he didn't want his brother's weakness advertised to the world, but here it was laid bare for anyone to see. In fact, Dean knew that his little brother was going to be seriously embarrassed when he was feeling better. Sam would know how _exactly_ how much of his current state of duress Dean had witnessed, and he would hate it.

Sam pulled back before leaning against the wall, his head lolling to the side in as his muscles relaxed. He hadn't had anything to eat and his body was starting to protest the lack of nourishment. Once the blood was out of his stomach, his body seemed to realize that there was nothing left to fill up the hollow inside his gut. But the mere idea of _eating_ something made him want to vomit all over again.

It was a nasty little cycle that Sam didn't much appreciate. He allowed his tired gaze to rest on his brother and he noticed that even though Dean was concerned about him and the other angels that were trailing them, he wasn't rushing Sam. Something inside of Sam popped. Like a balloon that had been filled with denial, he understood on a cellular level that this was every bit the _brother_ that he'd grown up with. Dean would never let anything happen to him. At least not if he was alive to prevent it.

"You don't need to do that anymore." He said in a raspy voice. Sam winced at the sound and swallowed.

Dean tilted his head to the side as he reached up and grabbed the water again, handing to Sam. "Do what? Take care you? Kinda comes with the title 'Awesome older brother'." He quipped with a quirk to his eyebrow.

Sam's brow furrowed and he felt a small smile at Dean's rather typical response to anything that was even remotely close to sentiment. "No, worry about me. I'll be okay." He took a sip of the water.

Sam shifted slightly, but made no attempt to try and get up. He was careful not to touch his Dean's left arm, which was the closest to him. So Dean dropped down onto the floor next to him.

"What happened to you, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, staring up at his brother through the long fringes of brown hair.

Dean pressed his lips together and his eyes unfocused for a moment, the green receding and the black taking a more pronounced place. He'd promised Sam that he wouldn't lie to him, but he sure as hell didn't want to give his baby brother anything else to feel responsible for. "I found a way to climb outta Hell." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. He cracked his back and pressed back against the side of the bathtub forcing his battered body up onto the side of the tub. Glancing around, he sighed; _this wasn't the most comfortable place to have this conversation._ "

You wanna move back to the bed?"

Sam shook his head and immediately wished he hadn't. He wasn't entirely sure that his stomach was done with the spectacular intestinal pyrotechnics.

He glanced over at Dean, his damp bangs falling forward across his eyes. "Dean, I wanna know what happened to you because I _do_ care." His eyes took on that wounded puppy look and Dean inwardly groaned. _That particular look had gotten Sammy every single toy at the bottom of the cereal boxes._ Sam looked away, his eyes bright with emotion; "I tried to find a way to get you out Dean. I really did. I contacted everyone we knew, I even tried to make a deal of my own-"

Dean cut him off. "You did what?" His voice was suddenly angry and heavy all at the same time. The very thought that Sam was almost on a rack next to him was gut wrenching; he'd have stayed in Hell forever to prevent that deal being made. Sammy didn't deserve to burn for the sins of their family. Whatever had led to the yellow-eyed demon and his plans for Sam Winchester had never been his fault.

A soft intake of breath was Sam's only answer to the fear he heard in the under tones of his brother's harsh question.

Dean pulled in a long breath, "Sammy, I did what I did and I'm not gonna apologize for it; it brought you back. Hell wasn't exactly a Sunday picnic, but I'm back and stronger than ever. And I swear to you that every one of those sons a bitches is gonna pay." The green in his eyes was fading into the blackness as his anger rose.

His brother looked away from the barely contained rage that was clearly evident on his Dean's face.

Pulling in a deep breath Sam felt his head explode with pain and his sides contract painfully. He leaned forward catching his head between his hands and waited for the agony to subside. "So what now?" He asked through clenched teeth.

Reaching down Dean gently pulled his baby brother's chin up. Sam found himself staring into the inhuman black-green eyes. "Now? They're toast. We are taking Hell down, for good." The conviction in Dean's voice sent a shiver all through Sam.

"What about the angels?" He whispered. Sam's gaze flickered momentarily toward the door and then back to Dean. He dreaded the answer, because as bad as demons were, at least they knew how to handle the black-eyed bastards. But the angels were an entirely different story; they had no clue how to kick their feathered asses.

Dean sneered, "First I'm gonna deal with that flying douchebag that took you." He nearly smiled at the thought of what he had planned for Zachariah and Raphael. "Then I'm gonna deal with that archangel, Michael." He cracked his knuckles and leaned forward, his eyes twinkling in anticipation of the coming fight. "But I promise that I'm not going anywhere Sam. We are going to win or we are going to die. Either way we're both free of this shitty existence we try so hard to hang onto."

Sam swallowed thickly, "What about the blood? I heard you say something about addiction?" It was a difficult question to even ask. He'd overheard their conversation and he was genuinely scared of what it meant for him. Whatever that damn angel had started inside of him, it was apparently irreversible. He could already feel the slow changes caused by the blood; Sam could actually look at Dean and see something _else_ pushing at the edges of his brother's physical body. Like something enormous was barely contained inside him. Whatever it was seemed to fit fairly well, but it was still larger than the human form containing it.

He didn't understand what he was seeing and Sam didn't want his brother to think he was totally nuts, so he kept it to himself.

His brother snorted, "I'll help you through it." After several long moments, he asked, "Do you trust me Sam?"

Sam's gaze flickered up to meet the intensity of his brother's strange eyes and felt his own conviction slip firmly into place. "Always."

XXXX

Castiel listened to the conversation from the other side of the door. He wasn't going to say anything to Dean, but the idea of taking on Michael was more than a little worrisome. Michael was the oldest of the archangels, not to mention that he was the most powerful of all God's children. Only Lucifer was on the same level, and the fact that they were going to beat not just one of those beings, but both of them was a long shot. Castiel had seen the dream vision that Sam had had while he was hopped up on demon blood; unlike Dean, Castiel knew what that meant.

Sam was the vessel that would allow the return of the fallen angel and that meant that the demons and the angels were going to do _anything_ to get him. Not to mention that Michael was incredibly pissed that Dean had taken his body, defiled it with his corrupted soul and stolen some of the archangel's grace. It wasn't that the Michael couldn't cleanse the vessel and use it, but getting permission from a host who knew what he was giving up wasn't likely. Not to mention Dean hated angels, pretty much any angel wasn't getting anything from the eldest Winchester.

Castiel sank into the small wooden chair at the old kitchen table. He wasn't sure why he was having doubts about his mission; there was just something different about Dean. It was possible that the effects of angel grace were changing what he was at the depths of his soul.

Dean had had two destinies, one had been to become the second greatest master torturer that Hell had ever seen, and he had. But the other one had been to be Michael's vessel. And yet with the grace swirling inside him, his soul had changed. Somehow Dean had retained parts of his humanity.

It wasn't something that Castiel had ever seen nor even heard of before. Of course no angel had ever given part of his 'grace' to a human damned to hell either. Part of Castiel wondered if that was why Zachariah and Raphael were so hell bent on getting back the grace Dean had been gifted with. It had come from Michael himself and the archangel was furious at being duped. The archangel was holding Raphael responsible, Raphael was holding Zachariah responsible and he was holding Castiel responsible.

SPN SPN SPN

 _Hours later_

Sam found himself staring at the scarred flesh on his brother's wrists and he winced. He was painfully aware that the engravings on the white gold handcuffs had caused the scars. There was a part of him that had thought Dean could heal the wounds once those blasted cuffs were off. Judging by the nasty burned flesh, apparently he couldn't do that.

Castiel shift causing Sam to glance over at the angel, questions about his brother swirling through his head. He shifted his gaze back to Dean's sleeping form. Apparently being an all-powerful hybrid didn't mean that Dean never slept. He'd finally passed out on the bed nearest the door some time around 4:00 am. Dean had thrown his arm up over his eyes in an attempt to block out any light that may stream through the cheap thin excuse for curtains.

The angel was staring out the window, he hadn't moved a muscle in over an hour and it was starting to freak Sam out. No one should be able to remain that still for that long. His head was still thrumming painfully inside his skull preventing him from going to sleep. The nausea had finally let up about an hour ago and he'd managed to make it back to his assigned bed, again. It had taken a fair bit of his brother's help, but he wasn't going to focus on that.

Dean had refused to leave his side as he'd struggled through the first five hours of his forced detox. Sam didn't know what was in store for him as they put more and more distance between his last 'fix' and his future. But if the last few hours were any indication of what was to come, he wasn't too excited about it. He was constantly pushing down the blood-thirst that was a constant presence in the back of his throat. Sam swallowed the lump and tried to come up with something else to focus on.

His gaze naturally tracked back to his brother and he furrowed his eyebrows at what he saw there. "Can I ask you something?" Sam's eyes flickered to the angel's back. The trench-coated shoulders weren't even rising and falling, which meant that the angel wasn't currently worried about appearing to breathe. _Weird._ Sam thought with a mental shrug.

Castiel turned and looked back at Sam, his face a blank mask of indifference. The youngest Winchester found his gaze dropping to the rather ugly pale green flowered bedspread covering his queen-sized mattress.

"Yes." The angel answered simply.

Sam found that his throat went dry as he tried to think of how to word his questions. He knew that his brother's time in Hell had been awful, worse than awful, Dean's time in hell had been fucking horrifying. But he wondered what his brother's past meant for the future.

Would Dean ever be whole again? Would he want to? Could the angels fix, Dean? Was there any chance that Dean could go to heaven at any point? What if his brother was a really good _demon-angel thing?_ He watched as the angel huffed and shook his head almost like… _what the hell,_ "Were you just reading my thoughts?" Sam asked in a shocked tight voice.

"You think very loudly, Sam Winchester." The angel responded in that odd gravelly voice. He walked to the couch and sank onto it, cracking his back in a very human action that made Sam's eyebrows go up. The angel was a constant study in opposites.

"So? He stressed before dropping his eyelids closed when another blood-hunger pang slammed against his control, he clenched his teeth deny the intensity of the need.

Castiel blinked, taking several moments before answering, "I could take your brother to heaven. But he would not be happy there." The angel watched as his answer surprised Sam, he was visibly struggling to understand. Heaven was supposed to be perfection so how could Dean be _unhappy_ there? How could anyone be unhappy there?

"What's that even mean?" Sam ground passed clenched teeth.

"Have you ever seen your brother's true form?" Castiel stood up and walked toward the sleeping hybrid. _He_ saw Dean's true form every day. Every time he looked at the hybrid, he saw the horrifically damaged soul. Dean's true form was not a pleasant sight.

Sam's head snapped up and his mouth opened and closed several times before he found his voice. "Are you talking about Dean's soul?"

The angel nodded.

"No. The soul isn't exactly something humans can see."

"But you're not exactly human, are you Sam." It wasn't a question and the angel's comment sent a shock through him. "It is not a bad thing, but Sam you must know that you are unique and with that comes certain abilities."

Sam rolled to the side of the bed and allowed his long legs to flop over the edge. "I didn't ask for any of this."

"No, you did not." Castiel shifted and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His intense blue eyes never left Sam's face. "But none the less, you do have demonic abilities."

"Can you please not use my name and 'demonic' in the same sentence?"

He shrugged his shoulders and turned his gaze toward Dean. "If that is what you want—"

"It is."

Lifting his hands the angel conceded to Sam's request.

Sam allowed his ocean colored eyes to shift toward his brother. He couldn't see anything but the brother he'd grown up with. Dean was even stretched out on his stomach, his right arm tucked under the pillow he was lying on. His back rose and fell in a rhythmic dance that was evened out by sleep.

Sam could see the blurred edges of _something_ inside his brother, but he had no idea what he was looking at. "I thought he'd be like every other demon we've dealt with, black smoke shoved into Dean's body like too much pressure inside a cylinder."

"A bit simplistic, but not entirely wrong." Castiel leaned back, interlacing his fingers. "But that is only the parts you can see." He knew that Sam's power was growing regardless of whether or not he was receiving additional blood. It was imperative that they get his power under control before something happened that they hadn't planned on. "What you are seeing is the form demons take outside of hell. Their true form is much different." He stepped toward Dean's bed, raising his hand slowly, "Let me enlighten you."

The angel reached out and called upon his full angelic power, his brilliant blue aura blurred out revealing only a massive ball of light. Castiel's light penetrated Dean's body and he latched onto the writhing soul inside; and pulled.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. It would be greatly appreciated and will likely spur a new chapter more quickly.**

 **Author's Note:** _It has never been revealed what the damaged souls from hell would look like on the human plane of existence. I assume that their torture would be clearly evident if the black smoke was somehow cleared away. And how devastated would Dean be if Sam could see the truth about his time in hell? While Sam knows some of it due to the witches spell, he has limited knowledge of what really went down. He's about to get a very clear picture of how damaged his brother actually is._


	16. Secrets not Lies

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 16**

 _Secrets, not Lies_

Sam watched in horror as his brother's soul was revealed _through_ his flesh and blood body and then laid bare. Over the course of their lives they'd seen countless monsters, but Sam had never seen something as _tragic_ as what he was now staring at. _Oh dear God._ It wasn't that the soul had been removed from Dean; it was more that Sam was now seeing through the body into the very core of his older brother, and it was terrifying.

A cry of panic slipped from Dean as his true form was forcefully pulled out into the open for the entire world to see. _No, not the entire world, just Sam. Which was so much worse._

The noise his brother made was the worst thing Sam had ever heard. He blinked several times trying to understand exactly what lay before him as he was forced to watch the shame and horror fill his brother's multi-hued eyes.

Lying on the floor in front of them was the mangled and twisted version of Dean. The clearly defined outline of his older brother was there, but the form Sam was looking at was something that he'd never imagined. Sam had to remind himself to breathe.

His eyes dropped down to two gnarled legs that stretched out before him, the skin nearly hanging from the deformities due to the abuse and the lack of muscle. There were places where the bone could be seen and a kneecap seemed to be missing from one of knees. Sam's gaze traveled along his brother's body like a person witnessing a terrible wreck on the side of the road.

Dean's right arm appeared to have been broken and reset so many times that it hardly resembled an arm; and then there was his left… _oh God._ Dean's left hand was missing altogether. There was a handprint scorched into his right shoulder, like some kind of fucking brand. His right arm was pulled tightly against his body like the busted wing of a bird. His elbow was turned completely in the wrong direction. Bile rose in Sam's throat and he had to swallow several times to keep from choking on his own tongue. The need to haul his eyes away from the tragedy in front of him was overwhelming and yet he couldn't do it. It was a bit like seeing a violent accident on the side of the road, he was drawn to the carnage. His gaze traveled along Dean's body, a large chunk of skin and muscle was missing from his brother's side along his ribcage. Sam's eyes shifted higher; a shudder ran through him. Dean's face was nearly unrecognizable, there were burn patches all over his skull exposing the white of bone. What had once been Dean's strongest feature was now a horrific reminder of how much his brother had suffered. Dean would be the thing that terrified children in the night. Even his left ear had been burned to nothing, or it had been torn away leaving nothing but the tip.

Sam couldn't stop his eyes from filling with the burn of tears or the swelling of his throat at the physical embodiment of Dean's time in Hell.

He recalled the chains that Dean had so callously spoke about as he'd tried to explain what he'd gone through while he'd been in hell. The gaping hole in his brother's side now made sense when combined with that previous conversation. Christ, _the_ _m_ _eat hooks._ He saw that another hole had been punched clean through his brother's collarbone.

But it was Dean's eyes that truly convinced Sam his brother had never truly been lost. Inside the swirling green and black was the reflection of a terrified man; terrified that Sam would reject him and he'd be alone again. What Sam saw was the same look he'd seen that awful night in Indiana right before the hellhounds came for Dean's soul. But now as Dean's eyes shifted toward Sam the mask of indifference slipped firmly into place; all emotion wiped form his face. Dean stared up at the two men standing above him; no trace of what he was thinking was evident in those odd eyes.

Sam's eyes flickered to Castiel. He didn't have an expression, which was scarier than the indifference on his brother's face.

"Do you understand now?" The angel asked, watching quietly when the younger Winchester visibly flinched. "Your brother would be in constant pain." His blue eyes shifted to Dean's blank stare. "What you are seeing is the core of your brother, his soul has been damaged beyond repair. In heaven this is how he would be. Broken. Beaten. In constant pain." Castiel looked truly sorry as he revealed the truth of Dean's unique situation. What he'd shown to Sam was something that few humans ever saw, the true form of a human soul that has been destroyed by the rack.

"Without the grace inside your brother, he would be worse than what you now see. He would be a demon, Sam. And a true demon does not appear as a human soul; they are something monstrous, evil and tragic. They shed the limitations of their humanity as they were tortured. That's when their souls became more animal than human." His eyes shifted toward Dean again. "Your brother is unique among hell's demons. He wasn't changing enough with the torture, so the techniques got more _inventive_. Dean's soul was never completely lost because of his time in hell." He paused. "And that is, unusual."

Sam wasn't sure what to say, so he simply watched Dean as the angel continued to explain. "This is why Zachariah and Raphael picked him; that and the fact that his body is Michael's true vessel and my brother cannot posses a vessel without the permission of the host."

"My brother is not a _vessel_." Sam replied tightly.

The tension in the room became so thick that a dull spoon could have cut through it. Dean's expression remained blank as he watched them discuss him like he wasn't even present, finally he'd had enough.

His voice was harsh as he finally weighed in on their conversation, "So now you know Sammy." Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously as his soul solidified back into his mortal body, leaving only the perfect specimen of humanity that he'd always been. "Anything else you need to know about me?" He swallowed the icy tone and asked, "You gonna take off now?"

Dean's damaged voice was painful to listen to, almost like he'd been screaming for years. Sam considered that thought, it was likely that Dean _had_ screamed during the time he was buried in hellfire. As he watched his brother, Sam could see the tragedy that had become Dean's reality. But it was the finality of his brother's last comment that had him straightening slowly and looking into Dean's odd eyes. He wondered what he'd do if their situations had been reversed, would he allow his brother to save him? He honestly wasn't sure what the answer was, all Sam knew was that he couldn't leave Dean. He'd left his brother when he'd run off to college searching for a normal life, he couldn't do that again; not after everything his brother had done for him.

 _No, I won't leave you._

He shifted his eyes toward the still figure on the bed, "I'm not leaving you Dean." After having lost his big brother to the hellhounds, Sam couldn't imagine walking away from his brother's incredible sacrifice. Dean had done this, become _this_ , to save him. A flash of pain had Sam grimacing as Dean's gaze lifted to meet his straight on.

"This is what I am now Sam. I can't change that. Neither can you." The words sounded like they'd been pulled from a dark place somewhere deep within Dean's soul. He gestured over his body and Sam was instantly seeing Dean's forearm missing the hand. His mind supplied the graphic image of Dean's bloody and horrifying stump waving at him.

Sam shifted slightly before standing up and stepping across the gap between their beds and gently laid his hand on Dean's shoulder. The physical impact of Dean's raw emotions was like an electrical shock to his mind, he straightened as his muscles spasmed. Sam could feel the immense anger, the despair and finally the bitter disappointment. Dean's emotions settled like a vice around Sam's heart. He was overwhelmed by the onslaught of everything that he knew Dean was desperately hiding from him.

A ragged whisper interrupted his internal thoughts, "Please stop..." His voice was barely loud enough to reach Sam's ears; it was painfully obvious that Dean didn't want Sam to know the full extent of the emotions raging inside him.

Sam pulled his hand away like it had been burned, his gaze flashed toward Castiel's intense blue eyes.

The angel nodded once, "Do you understand now, Sam Winchester?"

"You didn't have to do that." Dean said softly. "I would've told him." He glanced over, a betrayed look clearly evident in his dark eyes. "If Sam had just asked."

The burn of regret nearly brought Sam to his knees, "Dean, I'm sorry. I needed to know if there was any chance that you could be fixed." He knew that he'd said exactly the wrong thing when his brother's face hardened into stone.

"I'm not some busted ass toy for you to play with, Sam. I'm not broken." He hissed angrily. Dean didn't know if he was actually angry _with_ Sam, or if he was just plain pissed that Sam knew the truth about him. His brother should never have been able to feel the emotions churning inside him. Come to think of it, the angel shouldn't have been able to reveal his true form without his consent.

"I know. I get it now. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to be alone when I finally…eventually I'll die Dean. Even if it's by old age and I don't want to leave you alone." Sam turned his glassy eyes toward Dean's surprised expression. His brother was watching him with a blank stare, but Sam could see that he _was_ listening; he just didn't like was his little brother was saying. "You do know I'll get old, right? If I live long enough to get old; and then eventually I _will_ die. So what happens to you then?" Sam swallowed the Volkswagen sized ball of painful emotions that were filling his throat.

For a moment he saw unimaginable fear and despair flash across Dean's face before he managed to hide it from Sam. Dean set his lips in straight line and narrowed his eyes before saying, "Not if I have anything to say about it." The steely determination in Dean's voice made Sam wonder just what his brother knew that he didn't. And watching his brother internalize his pain was both tragic and incredibly sad. Sam understood that their codependent relationship went far beyond what was normal, or even healthy, for siblings. If he really thought about it, their need for one another was _fucking scary as hell_.

"But that's just it Dean. You _don't_ have anything to say about it. Whether you like it or not, I'm not immortal. But you _kinda_ are." Sam knew that he was driving the bloody stake even deeper into his brother's heart, but he needed Dean to understand why he'd asked Castiel about his brother's soul. Sam had hoped that heaven would be something that they could share, just like they'd shared everything else in their lives. A pang of sadness coursed through Sam as he watched his words land heavily on his brother's shoulders, crushing something he hadn't meant to destroy.

Dean inhaled deeply and scrubbed his good hand over his stubbled face, he turned an icy glare on the angel for his involvement in this completely unnecessary conversation. Castiel simply shrugged and turned back toward the window. Pressing his lips together in frustration, Dean shifted his eyes to Sam, "Can we talk about this later Sam?"

Watching his brother, Sam noticed that Dean's eyes were closer to black than green, which meant that he'd pushed his big brother about as far as he dared tonight. After all, Sam had been reading his brother for the whole of his life and he knew when Dean was at a breaking point; and Sam would not be the thing that finally broke his older brother.

"Yeah, sure." He responded softly before moving toward his own bed. Sam pulled the ugly green comforter back and crawled inside the sheets, turning his back on his brother and effectively ending the conversation. He listened as Dean rustled around before finally shutting off the lamp. Sam added one last comment, "We aren't done talking about this."

Dean groaned, "Never imagined that we were." He knew his big brother too well, if Sam had questions they would have to be answered. Without that there was no way that his smarter than _smart_ little brother would ever focus anything else. Dean shifted several time in order to settle his injured left arm in the least painful position he could before laying his head against the soft pillow. He was still surprised at just how much he relished the experience of sleeping in a comfortable bed, safe in the knowledge that nothing would be attacking him. Destroying him in ways that still left him angry, fearful, and violated. He pulled in a slow breath, "G'night Sammy." he said.

It was so quiet in their room, regardless of the silence Dean wasn't sure that Sam had heard him until,

"Night Dean."

"Good night Sam and Dean Winchester." Castiel chimed in from the darkness. This had both brothers groaning in unison at the incredibly creepy presence of the angel. It wasn't normal to have someone stand guard over them while they slept. And frankly it made Dean's stomach flip with anxiety.

"Isn't there something else you could be doing? Or at least somewhere else you be doing it?" Dean asked in a tight voice as the covers rustled again. The light flickered back on and Dean sat up staring at the angel in irritation. "Don't angels sleep?" he growled.

Castiel shook his head 'no' and Dean sighed in defeat. "That's seriously creepy dude." He glanced over at Sam's slow breathing, how his brother managed to fall asleep in seconds was beyond him. Never in his life had he had the ability to just drop into any bed and catch some zzz's. Sam shifted and turned his head toward Dean's bed, his brother's face was pinched like he was in pain. Dean didn't know if it was psychic pain from the headaches or physical pain due to the serious withdrawals he had to be suffering from. Dean flipped the lamp off, and settled back down into the soft bed.

Dean knew that he could help alleviate the more severe symptoms Sam was suffering from, but he was terrified that if he did, his brother would succumb to the overwhelmingly addictive nature of the blood. _No, not just the blood. Admit it Dean, you're afraid he'll crave the power that will come the blood._ He thought.

It was crucial that Sam learn to control what was now growing inside him before Dean would even consider introducing more blood into his brother's system. _And I'm sure as hell not going after the gates of hell until I know Sammy will survive the process._

"Stop looking at me and go to sleep Dean." Sam's muffled voice jerked Dean back from his introspection.

With a smile Dean pulled the covers up, careful to avoid his left arm. Tomorrow they would start working with Sam. And Dean could prepare to fulfill his part of the deal; the part that Sammy couldn't know anything about, at least not until the very last minute.

 _And until I know that Sam can't stop me, or save me._

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. It would be greatly appreciated and will likely spur a new chapter more quickly.**

 **Author's Note:** _Any deal that involves a Winchester is never a good thing, but a deal that binds both Winchesters has to be catastrophic. Short chapter I know, but I wanted to get it out for you._


	17. Metamorphosis

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

Chapter 17

 _Metamorphosis_

The sound of suppressed gagging wrenched Dean from a somewhat restful sleep, his body was already moving before he had even grasped the situation. Lurching to his feet, he sprinted toward the bathroom and what assumed had to be another round of lovely 'upchucking' for his brother. Dean slammed into the unexpected wooden door causing it to fly open and collide with the wall hard enough to bust through the plaster and leave a perfect imprint of the knob. _There goes Sam's deposit._

Sam was kneeling over the toilet again, his forearm resting on the edge of the seat, his body shaking with exhaustion. The lengthy brown hair, that Dean had mercilessly teased him about growing up, now hung in limp strands hiding his brother's face. The scene brought Dean to a complete stop; Sammy wasn't handling the withdrawals well; not at all. Dean felt the unwanted emotions buck against his control as he looked down at the miserable man kneeling at his feet.

With some effort Dean swallowed the callous complaint he'd been about to make and focused on helping; gathering his errant thoughts and piecing them together as quickly as he could.

He'd been trained to cast off any remnants of sleep if unexpectedly woken up in the middle of the night; Dean had never liked being hauled out of sleep like that. It had been an ongoing joke with him and Sam throughout their childhood. His brother would try to catch him unaware and Dean would make sure he was never _unaware_ , no matter how deeply he'd been sleeping. It had driven Sammy nuts.

Unfocused blue-green eyes lifted in his direction and Dean could see the sweat rolling down the sides of his brother's flushed cheeks. The dark angry shade of red was completely at odds with Sam's normally pale complexion. But it was his little brother's eyes that made Dean catch his breath in agitated surprise.

The blood vessels had blown out in Sam's left eye leaving a macabre shade of red that made his brother look like one of the monsters they hunted.

"Damn Sammy, you look like shit dude." Dean commented in a snarky tone. He walked the rest of the way into the small bathroom, grabbed a hand towel and then settled himself on the edge of the tub. He was getting used to his ass falling asleep from sitting on the uncomfortable iron and ceramic contraption.

Without glancing up, "Was that supposed to make me feel better?" Sam gulped around another bout of nausea. He reached up and blindly took the small lime green towel from Dean's loose fingers. "Cuz your bedside manner needs some work, Florence."

Dean's eyebrows rose at the historical reference. "Florence? As in 'Nightingale', the nurse?" He shifted uncomfortably and snatched the damp towel back as Sam sank back against the opposite wall. His elbows were resting on his drawn up knees and he allowed his head to fall back against the cool support of the wall. Watching his brother Dean was reminded of the curious fact that someone the size of his little brother should not be able to fold his 6'4" frame into that tiny ball of flesh.

"How many other Nightingales have you heard of?" Sam's question was stilted and his eyes were glassy as he peeked up through wet strands of dark hair.

The way his brother's eyes flickered around aimlessly, alerted Dean to the fact that Sam was having a difficult time keeping a steady gaze directed at him.

The grinding inside Sam's head was getting worse, not better, the longer he went without blood. Part of him wanted to be angry about his 'forced addiction', but he was just too damn tired to put in that kind of effort. Sam could barely make out the edges of Dean's true form pulsing at the edges of his brother's body. It reminded him of trying to shove a balloon into a package that was just too small for it. The mangled remains his brother's soul no longer fit perfectly into the body he'd been born with, and that concerned Sam.

His brother rolled his multi-hued eyes in indignation; Dean didn't much appreciate being compared to some mangy old nurse. "Well, there's the bird, the nurse and then there's Florence and the Machines. Booyah." A smiled cracked his stoic expression at his own clever response. "Bet you didn't think I'd come with three, now did ya?" A cheeky grin replaced the smile but slid away a moment later when he realized that Sam wasn't paying attention anymore.

Sam's eyes had rolled back into his head and he had started to topple over as his body finally gave into the massive loss of the adrenaline that had sustained him thus far.

Ignoring the shock of pain that blew through his body, he lurched forward to stop Sam's uncontrolled descent toward the edge of the toilet. Carefully he lowered Sam's unresponsive body to the cold tile floor. He was surprised when he felt the excessive heat radiating from his brother. "Dammit Sammy." He whispered in frustration.

He'd wanted to avoid giving his brother any extra hits of 'demon blood' until Sam's body had adjusted to lack of. It couldn't be part of his brother's continued survival; it couldn't be an addiction. But watching the severe reaction to his planned _cold turkey_ method, Dean was rethinking his whole detox plan. He reached behind him and pulled one of the scratchy white towels off the rack and folded it neatly before gently lifting Sam's limp head and sliding it between the floor and his brother's cheek.

"Cas, Sam isn't doing too good."

He heard the footfalls before the angel stepped into his line of vision. Castiel tilted his head, taking in the scene in front of him. After several seconds he lifted his bright blue eyes locking on Dean's worried gaze. "It is 'Castiel', not 'Cas' and your brother's body had already started the metamorphosis before we were able to retrieve him." A look of sadness flashed across the angel's face only to be immediately suppressed. "There was nothing you could have done, Dean. It was always Sam's destiny to be part of this war." With a sigh he added, "For what it's worth, I am sorry it had to be him."

Anger flushed Dean's concerns down the crapper and replaced it with shame and regret. "I should've gotten there earlier." He bit out the response through clenched teeth. Dean had known that Sam's time was limited once the angels got their hands on him, if Dean had gone directly after his brother instead of looking for the spells at Bobby's, Sam might not be in this situation now. Maybe Dean could've stopped the entire metamorphosis all together.

The angel turned toward Sam and watched him for several moments before saying, "Dean, the only way you can help him now is to give him what his body craves."

Blonde eyebrows drew down in consternation at the comment. "And have Sammy jonesing for _demon blood_ like some lame ass Vampire junkie? Not a fucking chance in hell. There has to be another way."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, "You could give him _your_ blood." There was no condemnation in his tone, just resolution.

The blonde visibly jerked at the idea, giving Sammy his blood was the one thing that could truly damn Dean. If he was willing to use what had been done to him in hell to save his brother, would he be _saving_ Sam or simply damning his brother to a similar fate? Was this the one-way ticket straight back to the rack?

He stumbled back and his legs turned to jelly at the idea. It wasn't like he didn't know his blood was tainted because of his time in hell, but he'd thought that since he was able to retain the grace, maybe his blood wouldn't be an option? At least he'd hoped not. Deep down using his curse to finish changing his brother into God knows what felt like the ultimate betrayal. The idea sat like a lead weight in his gut. "No. You can't ask me to do this Cas. Not this."

The angel shook his head and walked toward the bathroom glancing down at Sam's prone form. "Dean, the angelic grace has altered your DNA. You are not full a demon and you are not an angel. That begs the question, 'what exactly are you?'"

Dean swallowed but remained silent. He had no flipping clue what he was.

"You can save your brother without making him into the monster Raphael and Zachariah intended. If you introduce it slowly and over time, it will help alleviate the severe withdrawal and the side effects will be greatly reduced. It will also help us develop Sam's skills, train his latent powers so that he can control them, prevent them from _controlling him_." Castiel stared at him like the whole plan was a 'no brainer'. With a shrug of his shoulders he slid in the last nail of Dean's metaphorical coffin, "He will die otherwise."

The older Winchester launched toward the angel, his teeth bared and his eyes dark with barely restrained fury. "What the hell does that mean? 'He will die', you can't say shit like that Cas." His words came out as more of the growl as he cast his eyes back toward his unconscious brother.

But that wasn't what the angel saw, no he saw the intense concern and fear wash through Dean like a tidal wave. "You can save him." The angel said quietly.

Whirling black and green eyes snapped to meet his blue gaze, Dean's expression was blank but his eyes begged for more information. "How?" he said simply.

"Mix the blood. Dilute it before offering it to Sam."

"How is that going to help him?" Dean bit out.

Castiel sighed, "Diluting the blood only affects the demon part, the grace cannot be diluted but that is not what your brother is craving. Done correctly you should be able to complete the metamorphosis without the demon side-effects."

Pain echoed though him as Dean turned worried eyes in Sam's direction. "I don't want him…God I hate this." He didn't know what he wanted to say, only that he didn't want to do this. He walked toward the small kitchenette, "Watch him." It wasn't a request, this was an order and God help the man that ignored a Winchester's order. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that Castiel had understood and then turned back to the cabinets. Reaching into the small upper cabinet he pulled out a bottle of orange Gatorade. He'd purchased it earlier to help Sam replace the electrolytes he would have lost due to the vomiting. Pouring some of it into an opaque solo cup before Dean reached for his knife.

The razor sharp edge pulled easily across his tender skin before the burst of crimson flowed into the cup. Dean watched with a sick sense of fascination as the bright red blood ran in thick rivulets down his pale skin, dripping into the plastic cup. A memory or a _vision_ , he wasn't sure which, flashed through his mind.

 _A farm or some rural area with dried up grass and no visible life set the backdrop. Sam was standing at the trunk of a car, but this wasn't Dean's_ Sammy _, no this was a beefed up older version of his brother. A petite brunette stood next to him, whatever she was saying to him it had Sam grimacing with emotional pain. Dean couldn't quite overhear her, but he was pretty certain that the bitch was lying through her perfect teeth._

 _He watched as Sam pulled a small silver cellphone out of his pocket and took a deep breath before pressing a button. His hand shook as he lifted the device to his ear. Several seconds went by before Sam's eyelids dropped closed in resigned defeat and he allowed the phone to slip from his fingers_. _He turned away from the woman and stared into the open trunk._

 _A vice clenched around Dean's heart at the broken look on his little brother's face; his eyes flickering from Sam to the woman, his gut twisted at the smirk she wasn't even trying to hide. In that moment Dean had never wanted to rip someone apart as much as he did her. She was hurting Sammy in ways that would leave deep scars etched into his sensitive little brother's very soul. A feral snarl ripped through him and he started toward the pair._

 _The woman lifted her eyes, almost like she knew he was there and what Dean saw froze him mid-step. Black eyes, the bitch had coal black eyes. A demon, a fucking demon was working with Sam and Dean had no idea what they were working toward. He tried to concentrate; this had to be one of the screwy memories that Death had so graciously shoved inside his head. 'Bitch'. He thought to himself, not for the first time either._

 _And yet it was Sam's next actions that sent a shiver down his spine. Dean watched as Sam pulled a gallon of red liquid from the trunk of the car. He took a sharp breath and watched as Sam lifted the jug to his lips and gulped down the contents._

' _Ah Sammy…' There was no question what it was that his brother had just downed and it made Dean sick just thinking about it. But it wasn't over yet; Sam pulled three more jugs and gulped them down too. The empty containers landed at his feet and he turned toward the demon-woman. Dean couldn't hear what was said, but he understood the resolute expression on his little brother's face. This wasn't something that Sam had wanted to do, but he obviously didn't see another option._

 _Dean groaned internally when Sam and the woman turned toward the small church and trudged through the crackling weeds toward the large ornate wooden door._

He was thrust back into the present with knowledge that didn't make any sense to him, he had no context for what he'd just witnessed. Dean had no idea who the woman was or what had prompted Sam to drink four gallons of blood. He swallowed when it occurred to him that for Sam to have gathered that much demon-blood, they would have had to drain a possessed human, obviously killing the person, or host, in the process.

Dean dropped his eyes to the plastic cup in front of him. _Did I do that to him? Am I the one that hooked Sam on this shit?_ He wasn't sure what the answer was and _not knowing_ was almost worse than knowing. Lifting his unsure gaze toward the bathroom, he inhaled deeply. Sam was now pale and shivering. His body was shifting rapidly between fever and chills. Dean knew enough about detox to know the signs; his brother wasn't doing well. Setting the knife down he grabbed the empty Gatorade bottle and allowed his blood to continue flowing.

"That is enough Dean."

Castiel's words cut through Dean's haze; he set the bottle down and grabbed one of the off-white kitchen towels. Slowly he pulled it tight around his wrist. His attention was caught by the roughened skin along his arm, it wasn't healing he noted. He knew that eventually he would heal, he always did. But that wasn't what had him staring intently at the burned flesh, his hand was shaking and that wasn't normal for him. Dean shook his hand a couple times causing the towel to slip loose and droplets of blood to splatter in several lines along the Formica countertop.

His gaze came up to meet the intense blue of the angel's; he paused momentarily before nodding once, then tilting his head toward the bathroom. "He awake?"

The angel's eyes shifted and he nodded slightly. "He seems to be stirring."

The groan of pain from the bathroom supported that statement. Dean pulled in a deep breath to steady his nerves. This was the last thing he had wanted. He had wanted to save his brother, not damn him to life as a monster. Originally the whole idea had been to keep the douchebag angels from getting their grimy little hands on Sam in the first place. _Which I did a spectacular job of failing at._ The condemning thought caught him off guard and he exhaled slowly while he pulled himself back together. He'd never wanted to be put in the position of trying to undo the metamorphosis of his brother's very DNA; but here they were.

A part of Dean wondered at what point he would surpass the ability to reclaim his own soul. _Pretty sure this is a good start down that 'yellow brick road'._

If there had ever been a line that he shouldn't cross, then _this was that line_ ; and yet Dean couldn't lose Sam. Because if he did then everything that he'd done thus far would have been for nothing. Everything that their father had done to keep Sammy safe would have been for nothing. And there was no way that Dean could allow the sacrifice that their father had made to mean _nothing_. With a mental shake he reminded himself that he could wander down the twisted paths of his own damnation another time. It was possible that down that path he would learn that whatever _good_ had been done by the angel grace inside him was now lost. _It doesn't matter. Only Sammy matters._

"Dean, I cannot read your mind. However I believe that I know what you are thinking. Sam will survive and you will not become the monster that you fear." Castiel's words cut through the silence and caused Dean to turn green-black eyes in his direction.

He was silent for several moments before he said, "I'm already _that_ monster, Cas. No way to change that. No way to save me from that. Some things just _are._ " His words were heavy and honest as he thinned his lips before walking toward the bathroom. The angel didn't answer, he simply watched as Dean knelt down at Sam's side calling for his brother. "Hey, hey Sam?"

His brother's head lolled in the direction of Dean's voice and a soft, "Mmmm?" slipped past his chapped lips. Sam's eyelids fluttered several times before Dean was rewarded with the glassy blue-green eyes he'd protected his entire life. The blood vessels that had broken in Sam's left eye reminded Dean of a cross-roads demon. With a mental shove he slammed that raw and painful memory back into the vault inside his mind.

"I need you to drink this. Think you can?" The frown on his brother's face alerted Dean to forthcoming impending denial, so he changed tactics. "It'll help with the headache." He wasn't lying, not really. But he wasn't exactly giving Sam all the facts either, and that made him feel like he was a lying sack of shit.

Sam's teeth chattered as he reached out with shaky fingers. Dean placed the cup in his brother's hand and then help lift it to Sammy's lips. It only took a moment from when the orange Gatorade passed his lips before Sam's grip strengthened and he tilted the cup more. The drink had managed to quench the painful burning thirst in the back of his throat. Within moments Dean watched his brother guzzle the remainder of the purple liquid. The pinched-pain in Sam's face lifted slightly and he sighed as he set the cup down near his hip.

"What was that?" Sam asked a moment later.

Dean grabbed the empty cup and walked out of the bathroom. "Gatorade." He called over his shoulder.

"Gatorade and…?" Sam pressed the matter. He was well aware of the fact that he'd been far too sick for a simple cup of the sports drink to have had this much of an effect on him; particularly as fast as it had. Sam's left eye was a bit less blurry and his head wasn't trying to split open and spill his brains all over the awful brown carpet. He grasped the bathroom vanity and pulled himself to his feet before slowly following his brother. What he saw froze him mid-step and he had to swallow the gasp that almost slipped past his lips.

Sam was seeing the mangled form of his brother's soul, it was just beneath the surface of Dean's flesh. The angel wasn't influencing his sight, he would have known if Castiel were involved. Sam swallowed thickly. This was like looking at a picture through a piece of velum. He could clearly make out both of his brother's forms.

Dean caught the not so subtle shift in his brother's look. He started backing away from Sam's advancing form. "What do you see Sam?"

His brother's mouth dropped open while he struggled to find the words to describe it. "I. See. You." He answered softly.

Dean's eyes narrowed and he took two more steps backwards. His lower back contacted the kitchen counter and he was forced to stop and face Sam. "What?" he asked in a ragged whisper. He'd never wanted to run and bury himself to avoid a conversation more than he did this one. He was quick to wipe his expression clean, but he wasn't fast enough at hiding it, and Sam didn't miss it.

Sam gulped down his panic and laid his palms on the counter top across from his brother, allowing his head to clear a bit more. "I can see your soul." He finished softly.

His brother's eyes widened and his hands reached behind him to see if there was anywhere else he could go, there wasn't. His gaze flashed to Castiel, the accusations clear in his rapidly darkening eyes. "I don't understand." He stammered.

The angel moved from his self imposed sentry position near the window and walked to the doorway, settling until his shoulder was leaning against the wall. But when Sam shifted to look at the angel he immediately plastered his palms over his eyes in pain. "What the hell Castiel. Can't you turn that down?"

A moment later the glow dimmed and Sam carefully slid his eyelids apart. Looking at the angel had been like looking at the sun. _Right, only if the sun were less than ten feet from me._ Castiel's soul/grace, _or whatever the hell it was an angel was made of,_ had been all brilliant, albeit blinding, multi-colored hues. They were intensely painful for Sam to look at. The angel tilted his head, "It will get better Sam."

Dean's face morphed into one of anger, "You _knew_ this would happen? What the fuck, Cas. You couldn't at least warn a guy?" He ground out the question through clenched teeth.

The angel turned toward him and raised an eyebrow. "Had you known, would you have made a different choice?"

The comment instantly cooled Dean's anger, because 'no', in fact, he wouldn't have a made a different decision and they both knew it. He'd felt Sam's health declining rapidly and if he hadn't done something Dean would've lost his brother; there had never been another choice, not for him.

The color was returning to Sam's face and he was looking more aware of his surroundings; which was a good thing, until, "Can I have the rest of the Gatorade?" he asked, his eyes staring hungrily at the half full bottle sitting on the counter near his brother.

Dean's blonde eyebrow's cut down in concern, he looked at the angel waiting for some kind of response. Castiel tipped his head and Dean exhaled the irritated breath he'd been holding before picking up the bottle and handing it to Sam. The moment their fingers brushed Dean felt an electric pulse travel between them. He yanked his hand back like he'd been burned, but it was too late. In that one moment he'd felt Sam's emotions and judging by the face his brother was sporting, Sam had felt it too.

"What the hell was that?"

Dean shook his head, "Not a clue.

"It is the blood. It has created a connection of power between you both." Castiel's answer landed on both brothers in a heavy load of… _well they had no idea what the hell they were feeling._ Two sets of Winchester eyes stared at the angel in confusion.

It was the elder brother that found his voice first, "What connection? What are you talking about, feathers?" The angel's expression became one of exasperation as he stared at them. Dean didn't really give a shit about the heavenly being's feelings; he'd always known that he and Sam were unusually close, but this? This was just plain weird and it felt wrong."

Sam didn't understand what Castiel had said any more than his brother had. He knew that Dean was different after his time in hell, no, not just different, changed on every level except the one that mattered. Dean would still do everything in his power to protect Sam and they both knew it. But between his brother's demonic sentence and Sam's own time at heaven's _tender mercies_ , they had crossed some supernatural line. Judging by what had just happened, neither of them had completed their transformations yet. He wondered what that meant for their combined futures?

SPN SPN SPN

A meaty fist slammed into the glass desk, shards of fractured desktop scattered across the marble floor. "What do you mean you 'lost them'?"

The petite redheaded woman shrugged. "Was I not clear enough? Do you need me to draw it out in crayon? I have pink or blue. Pick a color."

"You need to be careful Anna. You're boyfriend isn't here to protect you." The angry man stepped toward her, his face dark with violent intent.

She didn't backup so much as a step; instead she crossed her arms over her chest and raised an elegant red eyebrow. "It's not my fault you screwed the pooch with Michael so don't take your incompetence out on me Zach."

"It's Zachariah." He bit through his clenched lips.

Anna snorted, "Does the Winchester boy have any idea of the price he'll pay for this betrayal?" She asked. Anna picked at one perfectly manicured fingernail and waited for an answer. When he didn't immediately say something she continued. "About the price that Michael will extract from him?"

The older angel glanced away before turning back to her. "He knows only as much as we wanted him to know. Dean has no idea that by betraying Michael, he has signed not only his own demise, but that of his family's very existence in history."

Anna swallowed, she'd known that the price was a heavy one, but she hadn't known the extent of Michael's power or his wrath; it was truly something to behold. "God help him then, because no one else …

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. It would be greatly appreciated and will likely spur a new chapter more quickly. Plus I do so enjoy reading through them.**

 **Author's Note:** _It's just going to get more complicated and darker from here. Michael's pissed and that is never a good thing._


	18. Brothers Fight

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier. Please excuse any grammatical errors, I still don't seem to proof read until I post the chapter and then I find all sorts of small issues. I'll fix them as I see them._

 **Chapter 18**

 _ **Brothers Fight**_

The illusive spectre of sleep finally settled over Dean, but it wasn't the restful kind that rejuvenated the body. No, this was the kind that nightmares were made of. Freddy Kruger had nothing on an ex-resident of hell's dream state. He'd wanted to simply alleviate some of the gritty feeling in his eyes and the multitude aches that went deeper than he'd expected. His body was wiling to give it a go, but his mind had other plans. Over and over he witnessed his own death and subsequent rebirth, if that's what one wanted to call it, it played in sharp-edged clarity inside his head forcing Dean to feel all the vivid pain of those moments in time.

His death had been so long ago that he'd forgotten the intense fear that held him captive as that hell-bitch had ripped him open. Peeling back his flesh like a child with a present on Christmas morning and then sinking her razor-sharp canines into his thigh and dragging him to the floor with a resounding 'thump'. The terror that he'd endured during that first moment when he'd realized that he was going to die and that he was going to hell. The magnitude of that realization had nearly stilled his frantic grunts and moans of pain. He'd felt his eyes darken as the light faded into tiny pinpricks that wavered dangerously. But it was the agonized fury and fear in his brother's voice as he begged Dean to come back; he'd pleaded with his older brother to defy the laws of nature and beat the devil at his own game. Dean couldn't give Sam what he wanted, not that time.

A sadistic part of his mind wondered if this was what an insect felt like as it was mercilessly pinned, wings spread out and secured to the board that would serve as both display case and tomb?

The nightmares continued to drive away any thoughts of sleep and eventually Dean gave up on the idea and settled for staring up at the dingy ceiling. The off-white paint was peeling in places and the ceiling fan rocked dangerously as it rotated, sending out small puffs of cool air. He found his ears were still as attuned to his brother as they'd ever been. Not even thousands of years in the pit could drown out the rules Dean had lived his entire life by.

 _Protect Sammy._

His brother's breathing was rhythmic and smooth, unlike the last time Dean had been forced to listen to the labored breaths. Sam was no longer struggling for air, his lungs no longer wheezing into the darkness as he struggled to simply breathe. He was fully aware that it was because of the blood Sam had been given. The changes that were now affecting Sam's physical wellness had nothing to do with normal human healing, and everything to do with the Gatorade laced concoction that Dean had given him. Sharp pangs of regret laced their way through him and Dean wondered if Sammy would ever get that normal life he'd always wanted. More than that, could his brother ever _forgive_ him for the selfish choice he'd just made?

 _Probably not._ He thought cynically. Reflecting on the events of the day, Dean wondered if he and Sam could ever get back to being _brothers_? He couldn't quite bring himself to be as cynical about that possibility; he craved that sense of family like he craved oxygen. Dean reached up and scrubbed his hand down his face, biting his lip when the tight skin on his wrist pulled painfully.

 _Heal already._ He groaned inwardly. His stupid body refused to do what it was meant to, repair the damaged cells and allow Dean to move on with his mission. His eyes slipped sideways toward Sam's bed. He couldn't see even the outline of his brother, but he knew he was there. Casting his eyes around the room he wondered if the angel was still there as well or if Castiel had _disappeared_ to parts unknown? When no sound of any kind made its way to his ears, Dean assumed that Cas must be gone for the moment. _Good, that leaves me some time to plan._

He swallowed and then turned his back toward Sam's bed, even asleep Dean wasn't positive that his brother wouldn't sense something if it was _off_ with him? _He can see your soul dumbass, what makes you think he can't hear your thoughts too?"_ Dean seriously hoped that wasn't the case. These newly discovered abilities of Sam's were more than a bit disconcerting. The idea that his brother could physically _see_ all the damage inflicted upon Dean's disembodied soul was terrifying. A witness to indignities and shame wasn't something he was prepared to deal with. What Dean had suffered in hell was his and his along to bear. He couldn't share that with Sam, he just couldn't.

Because as long as these memories belonged to only him, Dean could deal with all that shit; but add Sam into that equation and suddenly Dean wasn't all that sure he could bury his bloody past. The torture had been horrific, the pain inflicted had been gut wrenching, but the idea of Sam knowing the full magnitude of what Dean had become had the possibility to shatter what was left of his sanity. Dean hadn't been all that far from giving the demons every-damn-thing they'd been asking for; anything for even a moment of respite from the intolerable pain of his existence.

Thinking about it, he supposed it was possible that this new _vision_ -thing of Sam's could come in handy if used properly. _And not directed at me._ His brother hadn't just been able to see his blackened soul; Sam had seen the brilliant incandesce of Castiel's— _Wait, do angels actually have souls? Maybe they're just billions of sparkles thrown into a blender switched to 'high' and then 'poof' an angel gets pooped out?_ He smiled at his own ridiculous theory.

In his limited time back on earth Dean had decided that angels were difficult to distinguish from a normal human, which was easier with demons. Maybe it was something about their violent natures that couldn't be hidden behind an innocent face. Although, not all meat suits were housing 'innocents'. Rolling over he hissed when a spring dug into the base of his spine.

 _We really need to start springing for better places Sammy._

He knew they wouldn't, but it made him feel better to think it. He swallowed before deciding that he'd had enough of lying on the lumpy uncomfortable mattress, hauling himself up he padded toward the bathroom door. A hot shower sounded way better than pretending to sleep like a normal human. He wasn't _normal_ or _human_ anymore and he never would be again, so why delude himself? Glancing over his shoulder at Sam's sleeping form, his blonde eyebrows knitted together in concern.

Beneath the concern he could feel the anger and the rage that still drove his demon side, but his brother seemed to have a soothing effect on those demonic tendencies, which conversely also seemed to bring his angelic side to the surface. With a sigh, he thought about their childhood and Dean was a bit surprised when he realized that Sam had always had that effect on him; he simply hadn't realized that was what it was. Dean grabbed at his duffel bag before noticing the shadowy outline of the angel standing near the window. _Creepy stalker angel._ He thought with a bit of amusement. A half smile twitched at the sight, he found that he actually _kinda_ liked Castiel. Not that he was ever going to tell the angel that.

With a visual sweep of the room, he finally shut the door softly before flipping on the light. The small bathroom was nothing fancy, but the shower looked inviting. The thought of hot water sliding over his skin sent a shiver of pleasure through him. When he'd been human he'd never considered them more than a necessity to clean the grime and the gore from himself. But as he crawled under the hot stream he was rethinking his previous assessment.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam tossed and turned restlessly, his mind a tangled heap of emotions. Sweat rolled down his temples, soaking into the soft masses of his brown hair.

 _The youngest Winchester groaned at the soft 'thunk' of his bullet as it landed in the dead wood. The old tree had acted as a backdrop to his intended target. He had been aiming at the brown beer bottle sitting on that stump. The bottle that continued to sit there, mocking him with his failure. He heard the footsteps and cringed internally at what he knew was coming._

" _Come on Sammy, you gotta steady your aim better. Fire between breaths otherwise your aim will be high." His brother's advice was sound but it irritated him none-the-less. It was almost like Dean thought he was missing the son-of-a-bitch on purpose._

" _I am fully aware of that Dean and it's Sam not Sammy." He said, the irritation so evident that even he knew he sounded insolent and childish. It was a good thing it was his brother here with him and not his father or he'd have gotten thumped for that 'disrespectful' remark._

 _A hand landed on his shoulder and he immediately shrugged it off. Turning, he saw the instantaneous hurt reflect in the depths of his older brother's green eyes. Dean blanked out his expression within Nano-seconds and then shrugged. "Whatever dude. Have it your way."_

 _Sam huffed, he hadn't meant to hurt his brother's feelings, but dammit he wasn't twelve anymore! And he was the only one of the Winchesters that seemed to get that. He'd thought that this outing was a fun camping trip, but haha, the joke was on him this was a 'hunting' trip. Like always their father had figured out a way to turn everything they did into some sort of training opportunity._

 _He ground his teeth together and lifted his pearl handled 1911, pointing it at the bottle with deadly intent. Sam could feel his anger at the whole situation clouding his ability to focus. And that just pissed him off even more. So yeah, bad cycle there. Just as Sam was ready to pull the trigger a loud 'crunching' behind him had him yanking the trigger prematurely. A bullet blasted through the tree next to the one he'd been aiming at. His anger exploded. "Damn-it Dean!" he swore._

 _Spinning around he glared his irritation at his brother's grinning face. Dean lifted another pretzel to his mouth and popped it in without remorse and chomped down loudly._

 _He pushed away from the Impala and sauntered toward Sam. No remorse no his smug face. "You have to learn to tune out everything Sam. If you don't you're going to get killed or you're going to get me killed."_

" _I'm not going to get you killed. Because I hate this and I have no intention of hunting for the rest of my life!" He said, the tension in his voice causing it sound higher than normal._

 _The crunching stopped, "This is what we do Sam. We hunt things and save a lot of people doing it."_

" _This is your dream life Dean, not mine. I don't want it. I 'never' wanted it." Sam spat angrily. And in those moments he missed the look of fear that flashed across his brother's face._

 _Sam clicked the hammer forward and pressed the safety on before trudging toward Dean. He was careful to keep his intensions from his expressive face. Both Dean and their father had told him it was a weakness that he needed to control better. While he hadn't figured it out fully, he was well on the way thanks to some theater classes. Dean started toward him again. Just as his brother passed him Sam snatched the bag of pretzels from his brother's limp fingers. Without thinking he crushed the salty snack into 'dust' and dumped them onto the forest floor._

" _That's littering and a waste of perfectly good food. What if there's some snail out there, just 'snailing' along and he picks up a piece of that salt? " Dean said, his eyes narrowing as his hands clenched at his side. "He'll die 'Sammy' in a dried out trail of slug slime. You want that on your conscience?"_

 _"Thanks for the biology lesson professor." he shot back, derision dripping from every word. Sam understood his brother as well his brother knew him and Sam knew that Dean would take the remark as some kind of veiled insinuation that he thought his brother was stupid. Which at the moment, he did. But under normal circumstances that never even crossed Sam's mind. He knew how smart a person had to be to fail every single question on the SATs; statistically Dean should have gotten one right by accident._

 _Sam was the struggle as Dean refocused his desire to punch Sam in the face, which was okay, because frankly he'd like to have a 'go' at his older brother. Ignoring his Dean's tirade he continued to stalk forward. He wasn't the scrawny kid he'd been a few years ago. Which coincidentally enough was the last time that he'd challenged his brother outside of a training ring. Sam had spent a lot of time in the school gyms over the last twelve months and Dean had spent that same amount of time hitting on chicks and trying to get into bars._

 _Without warning Sam sent a jab toward his older brother's unguarded cheek. He was a bit shocked when Dean ducked and spun faster than Sam had thought possible. The elder Winchester came around with a growled 'what the fu-' before sidestepping Sam's haymaker._

 _His freckled face darkened, "This isn't why dad sent us out here, Sam." Dean was bobbing and weaving most of his brother's angry blows. A couple got inside his defenses; they both knew that had only happened because he was refusing to actually 'hit' Sam. That made this so much worse for his younger brother. It was like being physically told that he wasn't a match for Dean; they both knew he wasn't, yet, but he wasn't admitting that to anyone._

" _Oh I know that. He wants us to be just like him. Dammit Dean, can't you think for yourself? Why're you always doing everything he says without question?" Sam didn't expect his brother to answer and he wasn't disappointed when Dean said nothing. Another flurry of punches ended with Sam managing to lock his grip into Dean's leather jacket and then taking him to the ground. It was the one place where he was at least equal to his big brother._

 _Sam hadn't taken into consideration that the forest floor probably wasn't the most comfortable place to be tussling like schoolboys. A stick jabbed into his back and he rolled away from it. But his longer reach worked in his favor as he struggled to lock in an arm bar and Dean twisted like a wily cat beneath him. "Stop it, Sam." Dean grunted as Sam's elbow caught him in the jaw._

 _There was no way that Sam was stopping. He finally felt like he had the upper hand and he was going to press this advantage. Pulling at Dean's right arm he managed to yank it towards himself and then moved to lock his legs over Dean's shoulder and behind his neck, hooking his long legs at the ankle before arching into a backwards stretch. He felt the joint-lock sink in and he knew that his brother was going to have to tap out, because there wasn't a way out a hold this deep; and they both knew it. He continued to put increasing pressure on the elbow joint, frustration worked through him at Dean's lack of surrender. So in a desperate move, Sam lurched backward hoping to put a bit more pressure on the joint and force his brother to 'tap out'._

 _Only Dean didn't break, his body did as his right elbow snapped with a resounding crack and his sharp hiss of pain. But he never said a word. Sam released the arm so fast it appeared to have snapped back like a bungee cord. He watched as his brother curled the broken appendage toward his body and then rolled slowly to his knees. He knelt hunched over his broken arm like a bird with a busted wing, it was terrible to watch._

 _Regret and shame slammed into Sam so hard his breathing hitched involuntarily. What had he just done?_

 _I_ _n his anger he'd hurt the one person in his life that didn't actually deserve it. He doubted that Dean would ever deserve it. He didn't utter a single word as he carefully climbed to his feet and started toward the Impala, his right arm tucked tightly against his stomach, his shoulders rolled forward in obvious pain._

" _Dean?" Sam called; he started toward the car before remembering that his gun was still sitting on the stump. Swearing he jogged over and grabbed it before turning back toward the car. Dean had already climbed into the driver's seat, his head resting forward on the steering wheel. Sam knew enough about his brother to know that that meant Dean was in serious pain._

' _And it's all my fault.' Sam thought miserably. Slowly he walked to the passenger side door. After taking a moment he pulled it open and settled into the buttery soft leather. He kept casting his eyes to the left, waiting for his brother to start the engine. Or unload on him, whichever Dean decided to do first._

 _Silence reigned supreme inside the car for several uncomfortable moments before Dean broke it. "Dad didn't send us out here." He admitted, never looking over so he missed the shocked surprise on Sam's face as he turned to stare at Dean. "I wanted to make sure you could focus through distractions so I asked dad if I could take you shooting." He stopped talking for a second before continuing with, "You might have to ignore all sorts of shit down the road Sam; I won't always be around to watch your back." His words were soft and laced with more than just the physical pain he was suffering from._

 _Sam's mouth opened and closed several times before he accepted the simple fact that he had no idea what to say to that. Dean had been trying to help him and he'd punished his brother for that act of kindness with violence._

" _I do think for myself." Dean finally muttered in a hoarse whisper before reaching over with his left hand and starting the car, then placing it in drive._

 _They rolled back down the bumpy gravel road and Sam knew that every single bounce of the car had to be killing his brother. " Dean…I didn't mean that—_

 _Dean snorted, "Yeah you did." He turned toward Sam, "You never say anything you don't mean Sam. Been that way since you were little."_

 _If his brother could have dug the dagger of shame any deeper into Sam, he would've bled out._

Sam surged up out of the dream like a drowning man desperate for air, his heart was hammering in his chest and his hair plastered to his head with sweat. He panted as he tried to scrub the memory from his skull. It had been so long since he'd dreamed that he'd forgotten how easily a dream could replay reality, making it feel 'real' again. Swiping his hand down his face he threw back the covers and swung his naked feet over the edge. Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees and waited for the nausea and regret to pass.

A glass of water seemed to magically appear in front of him. Glancing up he was surprised to see that it was the angel and not Dean standing above him. For a moment he panicked until his brain picked up the sound of water spraying. Swallowing dryly he reached out for the water.

"Thank you." He said grateful for the cool liquid.

The angel pulled in a long slow breath, "He forgave you for that act of stubborn pride the second it happened Sam. Dean does not seem capable of holding a grudge against you. He couldn't when he was human and he cannot do so now."

Humiliation worked through him at the realization that the angel had 'seen' his selfish moment of adolescent pride. Dean still bore the scar from the surgery when his elbow refused to remain in place almost a year after he incident.

"He never told our dad about." Sam admitted softly. His eyes flickered toward the closed door and the steam slipping beneath it. "Dad would've tanned my hide for that little stunt, but Dean never said a word. He lied to our father, told him it happened on a hunt."

This was the first time that Sam realized the reason why, Dean loved him. It didn't matter what Sam did or what he became, his brother loved him unconditionally.

Castiel took the glass back, "He will always put your safety and happiness above his own Sam. It is vital that you remember that." The angel had leaned in, his blue gaze taking on an otherworldly glow.

Sam leaned away, uncomfortable with the proximity.

A blast of power shattered the silence and slammed into Castiel with the force of a freight train. The angel was thrown away from Sam and three men appeared in the room, one raised a hand cut off the cry of help that Sam had been about to let loose. His hands flew to his throat just as another hand struck him in the chest, sending him flying into the headboard. His lower back cracked against the edge and pain lurched through him.

He crumpled forward still unable to breathe or speak. Hands came from everywhere and suddenly Sam was on his back, a white foul-smelling cloth descending toward his mouth and nose. In his moment of panic he cried out with his mind, sending his plea for help along that tenuous connection he shared with his older brother.

"Dean! Help me!"

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. Reviews do seem to speed along the chapter delivery process. Not sure there's a connection there…but there might be. And they're appreciated beyond measure.**

 **Author's Note:** _It's just going to get more complicated and darker and darker and darker and darker, etc._


	19. Ancient Alliances

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 19**

 _ **Ancient Alliances**_

Dean leaned one hand against the tile wall and ducked his head beneath the strong spray; hot water cascaded over his bruised and damaged skin. He allowed it to roll along the weary muscles, hoping that it would loosen a few in the process. Tilting his head to the side caused the water to roll over his cheeks and along the long expanse of his neck. It was nice to 'simply be', no immediate threat trying to pull his soul from his body. _Yeah, this is a good moment._

His eyes drifted to his hanging arm and he pressed his lips together in aggravation. His wrist still bore evidence of his time stuck wearing that infernal _angel_ jewelry, which meant he wasn't back at full power yet. He took a deep breath and shifted his weight, changing the angle of the water causing it to slip down his multi-colored ribs. Dean's eyelids dropped and he allowed himself this moment of peace. Peace in the knowledge that Sammy was safe, and alive.

 _But when has life tossed anything at a Winchester but loss, pain and misery?_

Dean hadn't been in the shower for five minutes when all hell broke loose in the other room. He straightened; every muscle in his body protesting the movement before he turned worried eyes toward the closed door.

' _Dean! Help me!'_ His brother's cry couldn't have been clearer if he'd been standing outside the glass door of the shower. The threads of fear and outrage in that call nearly forced Dean to his knees. His muscles trembled in response as he reached out with shaking fingers, fumbled with the plastic crystal knobs of the shower and finally killed the water. As soon as it stopped he heard shouting and Sam's unintelligible words, as something seemed to muffle his brother's voice.

Dean scrambled out of the shower, not even bothering to throw a towel around his waist before bursting into the adjoining room. His eyes widened when he saw three men holding Sam against the mattress as he struggled wildly. A large white cloth was descending toward his brother's mouth and nose sending fury racing through him. He cast his gaze around the room assessing the situation in a fraction of a second before he was reacting. His stomach clenched regretfully when he realized that the angel was nowhere to be seen. _That can't be good._

A large sigil had been painted just above his bed near the door; the image rattled something loose in Dean's memories. But due to the chaos in their room at the moment he had no time to contemplate the meaning. Dean didn't even think; suddenly the men were flying backwards. Each one screaming in impotent rage as they found themselves pinned and helpless to either the wall or the ceiling of the motel room. But these weren't demons, these were angels and they were trying to steal his brother away, again. White-hot rage buried the grace within him and he reacted like a feral animal.

Dean grabbed onto their mortal bodies and then pushed and pulled with nothing more than his mind. He could feel their bones breaking beneath the onslaught of pure untapped power, but he couldn't control it, not this time. And he didn't care.

These asshats had threatened Sammy and that was grounds for total and utter annihilation. Bright light flared inside the room, streaming from their eyes and mouths in a display that was scary as hell. The men went suddenly silent as their combined bodies fell limply to the carpet, cutting off the agonized screams. Dean's eyes shifted to where Sam lay, unconscious on the cheap bed. He started toward his brother only be blasted by a surge of power unlike any he'd ever known. The burning pain centered right in the middle of his chest and he gasped as all access to both his angelic and demonic power was dampened. Dean dropped onto all fours as pain ripped through him, his naked knees slamming into the cold tile of the kitchenette. He gasped for air and tried desperately to focus around his current incapacitated condition. It didn't work.

In that moment of weakness Raphael appeared directly in front of him, a sadistic smile spreading slowly across his face. "You were never going to escape us Dean. We had a deal." With that, he slapped the white-gold etched cuffs on Dean's wrists and ensured there would be no escape. The affect was instantaneous like a string being clipped. His arms buckled and he landed hard on his chest, his face etched in pain.

Leaning in Raphael whispered, "It wasn't about little Sammy this time." He slipped a large fist under Dean's chin and jerked upward forcing the elder Winchester to look at him. "This was _only_ about you and the bargain you failed to keep. Sam? Well, he was just the bait."

And as suddenly as the entire thing had begun, it was over. The room returned to its previous state; the cloth lying over Sam's nose disappeared as the lights went out. It was quiet again but for the soft breathing of the single occupant and the only clue that Dean had been there was his green duffle sitting on the end the unoccupied bed.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean blinked several times as he waited for his head to quit spinning, he was disoriented and his body burned. Last thing he remembered he'd been taking a nice hot shower in the hotel, the next thing he knew he was struggling to simply remain conscious. Nausea rolled through his body and he had to clamp his lips shut to prevent yacking all over himself. Confusion and anger warred inside him as he tried to remember how he'd gotten here.

 _Wait, what the hell had happed_? _Where's Sam?_ His mind wandered as pain lanced through his system causing Dean clench his teeth and try prying his heavy eyelids open. His head rolled from side to side and he groaned when he saw the IV dripping a silver colored liquid into a tube that appeared to be attached to him. He groaned when he saw that the white-gold cuffs had his arms secured above his head and that was where a silver needle disappearing into a vein on his left arm. The skin surrounding the entry point was an angry red with light blue web-like tendrils spiraling outward. His head lolled to the other side in an attempt to figure just where the hell he was. He immediately wished he hadn't bothered.

There was a distinct reddish glow that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere all at once; his eyes blew wide as he realized where he was. "No…." He groaned, the denial thick in his raspy word. This wasn't possible. _I cannot be back here. I cannot be back here. I cannot be back here._ The litany repeated over and over inside his head like it could change what he was seeing. _Too bad this isn't Oz and I sure as hell ain't no Dorothy._

He'd gotten out of Hell, how could he back here? Dean had spent so many years inside this disgusting room and on this rack that he could feel the indentations his body had made during that time. He'd suffered abuses inside this _hell_ that he would never be rid of. The familiar warmth of anger began spreading through his system, giving him the strength to really look around. It was the same, it was exactly the same; the walls were the same black lava rock, complete with rivulets of liquid fire running along the cracks and crevices before disappearing into a hidden crevice somewhere below him. The ceiling was made up of the bones of those unfortunate souls that Alistair had taken a 'liking' to. He cringed inwardly as he remembered that he had put a few of those white skulls up there too.

It had never been fully understood how a disembodied soul could create bones to hang since there were no corporeal forms in Hell. He'd spent millennia trying to figure it out, he never had.

A violent clenching of his stomach muscles pulled a groan from him as his body burned and ached in quick succession; the cuffs were singeing the already scarred skin around his wrists. He struggled against the rack he was bound to, nearly howling in frustration when he couldn't even move his upper body. And yet he wasn't completely immobilized, it took a moment for him to realize that his legs weren't tied down.

 _Great, because that will help me so much, maybe I can tip this thing over and carry it out on my back. An image from Les Miserable of Hugh Jackman carrying the pole that had been a mast flashed through his head. Yeah, he wasn't sure where that had come from since Dean was fairly certain he'd never seen that._

Hysterical laughter bubbled up and he struggled to keep from laughing at the truly 'screwed' situation he found himself in. Dean tried to move his arms, but whatever they were juicing him with was stealing away his control over his own body. "Son of a bitch." He ground out angrily.

"Dean, you can struggle all you want. You won't be leaving this chamber under your own power." Dean's eyelids dropped at the sound of Alistair's rough and weirdly accented voice. _God I hate that demon's voice._

"My god, you actually thought you were out, didn't you? This is so much more delicious than I'd ever imagined." The voice continued, pleasure seeping in every syllable.

This deep baritone had taunted and insulted him for so long that he never forgot what it sounded like. The mere sound of it was the thing of nightmares and it didn't matter how much time passed, Dean would always be haunted by that _voice._

The master torturer sauntered around the corner of the metal rack holding Dean, his white eyes glinting with humor as he watched his _former_ pupil stare at him with barely contained rage and confusion. "You can't escape Hell Dean, but it was fun watching you believe you had." Stepping to the side, the demon slid a silver blade along Dean's forearm. Bright red blood blossomed against the pale freckled skin before running down his arm only to drip through the serrated holes in the metal.

The hybrid bit his teeth together as fire lurched inside him, it traveled through his body starting at the wound. It was like every one of his nerves was competing to see which one could cause the most pain. At the moment, they were all winning. _Great, my body gives out 'participation' awards._

His entire body felt like it was on fire and freezing simultaneously, there were shadows playing at the edges of his vision, causing it to blink in and out ominously. Dean swallowed the vocalization he'd been about to make when he caught another glimpse of the silver liquid hanging from the pole near his head.

"What's in the bag? Party favors?" He forced through tight dry lips, his black-green eyes shifting to look at the IV drip. Whatever it was, it was damn effective. Dean couldn't access any of his powers, angelic or demonic alike. And there was an odd numbness spreading along his limbs and clouding his ability to think. _So not a good thing._

"Oh, that?" Alistair gestured, a sadistic grin spreading across his haggard face. "Just a little mixture of Holy water and silver nitrate with a dash of ground up white-gold powder. Rather ingenious wouldn't you say? Blend the things that can poison both a demon and an angel and you know what you get? A way to keep a hybrid under control." He smiled, and then leaned in. "This little concoction dulls your powers to the point of non-existence. You can't escape me this time Dean." He grinned and his eyes took on a malevolent gleam. "So we can play for as long as I want." His fingers trailed down Dean's torso.

With a sense dread that nearly encompassed him, Dean realized that he was still naked. Apparently getting demon-napped after a shower had been terrible timing. _So that sucks out loud._ The realization sent a bolt of fear thundering through him. This just kept getting better and better.

Shoving it down he managed to demand, "Where's Sam?" He cast his eyes around the blood-soaked room struggling to ignore the smell of burning flesh and the distant sounds of terrified screams. He'd been the one being burned alive and he wouldn't wish that on anyone.

"Oh, baby Sammy is just fine. The angels have him." Alistair stopped to stare directly into Dean's wide disbelieving eyes. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, I'm sure they're giving him the VIP treatment." He snapped off a solute that froze any response Dean had been about to make.

Icy fire raced along his veins when Alistair reached for the knob on the drip and increased it to a steady flow. Dean struggled against the affects of the drug, but his body simply couldn't cooperate anymore. Mutilated images of Sam battered him without mercy. Sam hanging from the rafters in that fucking white room caused his chest to tighten; how could he have failed so miserably? The only job he'd ever had had been to take care of Sam. Keep him safe. And yet with all the powers of heaven and hell, he'd still managed to fuck it up. He'd tried so damn hard and it had all been for nothing. Neither of them was safe and Dean was relatively certain neither of them would be happy again.

"I love the smell of self-loathing in the morning. It just perks up the nipples, wouldn't you say?" Alistair taunted as he stepped around to Dean's other side, pulling in a deep breath and then sliding the blade along the edges of Dean's upper arm, splitting it wide open. The pain nearly sent Dean into the waiting darkness. The demon admired the unscarred body he was about to mark as one of his masterpieces. The only exceptions to his victim's perfect flesh was a jagged red scar that bisected the devil's trap tattoo over his heart and the hand-shaped print on his left arm.

The demon raised an appreciative eyebrow and traced his fingers along the hard planes of Dean's abdomen and ribs. "It's so smooth, like when we started." The white eyes flickered up and met Dean's strangely colored gaze. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you all over again, Dean. It's like Christmas and Santa knew just what I wanted! Lucky me." He pulled the blade over the anti-possession tattoo creating a cross before laughing as a sharp hiss of pain escaped Dean's tightly clamped lips. Crimson dribbled down his side before rolling into his armpit and dripping off onto the stone floor. The splatter sound made Alistair almost giddy with delight at what was to come.

Dean's teeth remained tightly clenched as he swallowed his cry of pain in the wake of the silver blade's path. It didn't just slice through his skin; no, this was blade created a special kind of hell just for Dean. The thing tore his flesh open with a burning fire that couldn't be ignored. It was designed to cause as much pain as possible. Every time he thought he'd convinced himself that this couldn't be real something reminded him that it just might be.

How? How were all the details so perfect? Dean felt like someone had reached inside his head and torn a crystal clear image out and then reproduced it in vibrant 4k, with him cast in the starring role.

The part of him that wasn't reeling in pain wondered; if he were still in Hell then why did the white-gold blade hurt so damn much? His eyes rolled to the side, the bag was blurry, but he knew enough to know he was still being pumped full of something. That damn liquid concoction was splintering his ability to think clearly. But one thought kept spinning around and around, if he were still in the pit, why would Alistair even _need_ to drug him?

He bit back another scream as the demon continued playing Picasso with his chest. Alistair carved and taunted with each pull of the blade, battering away at Dean's declining defenses. It was bad enough when it had just been Alistair, but soon the master demon let his minions in to play. Sudden blinding pain contracted every muscle simultaneously and the screams he'd been able to bite back demanded release. This was the breaking point for Dean's mind and it refused to be held hostage and with great efficiency it shut down all together.

His lasts thoughts were that he had been stripped, stripped of his powers, stripped of the knowledge that he'd escaped, and finally stripped of his own sanity. And that's when the real torture began. ' _I'm sorry Sam._ '

SPN SPN SPN

Sam fought the muddled thoughts that always came with being knocked out. Getting punched in the face sucked out loud, but being artificially put under was the absolute worst! He swallowed the thick knot of confusion and forced his eyelids to slip open. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, he was pretty sure he'd been sleeping and then…? What?

Surging up his gaze panned the dimly motel room looking for Dean or one of the angels. There was no one. He was completely alone, which Sam had never enjoyed. "Dean?" he called, swinging his legs over the bed and then having to lean forward when his heady spun and his stomach complained.

Deciding he'd have to brave the nausea, Sam settled onto unsteady feet and headed for the small kitchenette. His almond shaped eyes narrowed at what he saw, or more to the point what he didn't see. There was nothing out of place. Dean's duffle bag was sitting on the bed nearest the door. The coffee pot was clean with a flesh filter and a can of Folgers just waiting to be brewed. A box of day old donuts sat untouched on the counter. Knowing his brother as he did meant that Sam knew if Dean were there wouldn't be a pastry left untouched. He set the coffee to brew and went to grab his phone hoping there was a message waiting for him. There wasn't. Scrubbing his hands down his face he turned back to the coffee pot. He wasn't doing anything for the moment so he might as well get his daily fix.

He was just grabbing a mug as the distinct "flutter" alerted him that one of the angels had returned. Glancing up Sam's hand froze at the haggard look on Castiel's face. His trench coat was torn in several places and he was teetered back and forth like he was on the verge of passing out.

Without thinking Sam rushed around the counter and threw an arm around the smaller man, helping him sit down on the closest bed, which just happened to be Dean's. "Sam." Castiel's eyes flashed around the room in concern, "Where's Dean?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up at the question. "I figured he was out getting breakfast or something." Dread went through him as he went to the window; his heart sank when he saw the Impala parked in the lot just under their motel room. Glancing over his gaze landed on Dean's duffel bag. "His stuff is still here." _Where would he have gone?_ For one gut-wrenching moment Sam wondered if the demonic side of Dean's soul had overtaken the angelic grace. If that happened would Dean just abandon him? He mentally slapped himself for the thought. Dean had suffered through unimaginable horrors just to get back; he wouldn't take off now.

Castiel groaned and held his hand to his side like he'd broken a rib or something. "My brothers." He coughed out, his face screwing up into a look of regret.

"What do you mean 'your brothers'? Your brothers what Cas?" Sam's tone dropped and his posture shifted to one ready for action.

The angel shook his head and then lay over backwards. "My brothers came for him."

Sam still didn't understand, "But, he was shielding us from them, I didn't think they could find us?"

"I don't know how they did it, but they did locate us." Castiel's words were strained and his lip curled up in pain.

Running his long fingers through his hair in agitation, Sam shook his head in denial. This couldn't be happening. They'd just escaped one set of dicks only to be ambushed by another of heaven's cliques? "Where. Is. My. Brother?" He punctuated each statement with a hard shake of the injured angel.

"He doesn't know anything else." Gabriel's sudden presence nearly sent Sam through the roof. The angel was leaning on the counter with a steaming cup of Sam's coffee. He tipped the mug back and made obscene noises as he drank.

The younger Winchester turned angry eyes on the archangel. "And I suppose you do?" His gaze traveled from Gabriel's golden gaze to the now empty coffee carafe and his irritation tripled. _That was mine._

The smaller man shrugged, "Sure. Any and all information is for sale if you know the right bookie." He leaned back and cracked his back before stepping around and sitting on one of the stools. "Just so happens I know a lot of _bookies._ "

Sam had had enough of these word games, he needed to know where Dean was and he needed to know that right now. He crossed the distance separating them in two long easy strides before snatching the half empty coffee mug away and slamming it down on the counter behind Gabriel. The mug cracked along the bottom causing the coffee to leak out over the counter.

"Where the hell is my brother?" Sam's nose was flared and his eyes held a look that was dangerously close to insane. His cheek twitched as he worked to control the violence building inside him.

Gabriel's eyes narrowed and his temper finally started to rise. "That was rude." He said sardonically, reaching back and picking up the suddenly 'whole' mug again. The angel took his sweet time as he swallowed the few sips of coffee left and then softly set the mug down. "See now isn't that much nicer?"

Sam glowered at the man, his gaze catching a glimpse of the mugs contents. Inside, the mug had a grainy substance in the bottom and it took a moment for Sam to realize it was sugar. The entire bottom of the cup was ringed in the sweetener. _That's just nasty._ Biting back his sarcastic remark he turned back to the smaller man.

Taking a deep breath the archangel hopped off the stool and walked over to the foot of Sam's bed sinking down into a crouched position. "My brother's took Dean."

"How?" Sam asked, incredulous that this had happened again. _Jesus, you'd think we'd learn._

"Well…" Gabriel hedged before elaborating. "They had help. Of the 'uber-mighty' kind."

Castiel sat up, surprise evident on his stoic face. "Uber-mighty? What is that?" He winced as his side burned, he'd landed wrong after being blasted away earlier. Sam just stared at him, saying nothing.

If Gabriel could've slapped both of them in one motion he would have. "You two aren't the brightest bulbs in the box are you?" It obviously wasn't a question and it caused Sam's eyebrows to dip dangerously as he lost what little patience he'd had.

"Michael sent in his minions, but he didn't send them alone." The blonde shrugged in a dismissive manner, but his nose wrinkled with distaste. Whoever the older archangel had sent obviously disgusted the younger one as he curled his lip.

Shock nearly flattened Castiel, his blue eyes widened at the revelation. "Michael? He's here?"

Gabriel shot him a droll look, "Obviously not in the flesh. So he's the least of our current worries."

The air seemed to get sucked out of the room as Sam realized the level of what they were up against. This was the "Hannibal" of heaven's A-Team. The mightiest warrior ever produced. The one that had led the heavenly armies; and he wanted Dean dead. "If Michael's not our biggest problem—"

Gabriel interrupted, "Alistair is here."

Castiel tilted his head to the side, he reminded Sam of a dog trying to understand what he'd been asked to do. "Alistair is here?" He repeated blankly.

"Yup. And he got his grubby little mitts all over Dean's newly resurrected ass." He shrugged like this wasn't a big deal. "With Michael's help of course."

"Michael is working with Alistair? Since when does our brother work with anyone, let alone a demon?" The younger angel questioned as he shifted so he had a better view of both his brother and Sam.

"Since now, I guess. I don't know; it's Michael. No one knows why he does what he does. Point is, that's who is playing twenty questions with Dean right now."

"So Michael has Dean?"

Gabriel tisked, "Haven't you been listening to me? Alistair has Dean. Michael just kinda sorta, helped."

"Kinda, sorta?" Sam honed in on the ridiculous words.

"Yeah, what else do you want me to say Sam? My brother helped the master torturer of hell put the only soul that has every _duped_ him back on the rack. Gotta say it's probably not going well for Dean."

Castiel shot Gabriel a peeved look at the insensitive comment. Even he knew that had been a crappy thing to say to the younger Winchester. It would probably get Gabriel a fist in the teeth when Dean made it back to Sam. Because he had no doubt that the older Winchester brother would manage the impossible escape, again.

Pain lanced through Sam's head and he groaned before sinking onto the ratty little couch, dropping his head into his hands. This was all too much. First he gets Dean back then he finds out that his big brother is numero uno on heaven and hell's frenemies list. And now, those supernatural douchebags had nabbed him in order to get his meat suit? His eyes lifted to the neatly made bed and a lump threatened to choke him.

That right there was a clear indicator that his brother hadn't been here for some time. He glanced around the organized state of their room, but it was his brother's tightly secured blankets that sent a chill through him.

While Sam slept fairly quietly, that wasn't the case with Dean. He'd always tossed and turned throughout the night. He'd asked his brother about it when they'd been younger, but Dean had clamped his teeth together as his haunted eyes blew wide and unseeing. Sam had never asked again.

Castiel shifted in order to see Sam more clearly. "If it is not Michael holding him, how is Dean being held against his will? He has the power to escape anything Alistair can throw at him."

Gabriel shrugged again then went to the small refrigerator searching for something else to eat. "Maybe it's the fact that you _geniuses_ left the engraved cuffs where Rafael could use them? Ever think you otta clean up after a rescue?"

Sam pulled his head out of his hands and stared up at Gabriel. "What?" He shifted and ground his teeth together as his head pounded particularly hard in that moment; hissing in pain he focused on his breathing.

"I can help with the pain." Castiel offered when he saw the pinched look on his face. He took a step toward Sam only to have the young man hold up his hand up to stop the angel. The look on his face was a mixture of both terrified and hopeful.

"Later, how do we get to Dean?" Forcing down the pain Sam lifted worried eyes, begging the two angels to have a plan.

"We don't know where he is. And we would need to leave to uncover that information." Castiel hesitated. "I'm not sure that is what Dean would want."

The room dimmed slightly as his head pounded making Sam more irritable than normal. "Well, Dean isn't here right now is he, so you go and do whatever it is you angels do and find my damn brother." He watched as the two angels exchanged a knowing look, which sent an uneasy feeling straight to his gut. He'd been reading body language long enough to know that he was only getting part of the story.

The angels knew more than they were letting on. "Hey, Paul Harvey, what aren't you telling me?" He asked, shifting his weight and narrowing his eyes in further irritation at their waffling. They were wasting time and his brother was out there somewhere; going through God knew what. Anger flared inside him at their lack of action on Dean's behalf.

Blue eyes rose to meet Sam's unwavering gaze. "I don't understand that reference." He looked to Gabriel for clarification, but his brother just shook his.

The archangel stood up and headed back for the stool. "I'm pretty sure Michael had other help."

"Okay, help from whom?" It irritated him that even in his distraught state Sam couldn't use improper English.

"That is what we do not know. We must speak to out brothers and sisters." Castiel forced his body to wobbly feet and turned toward Gabriel in invitation. At his nod Castiel went on. "We will be back soon." In a flutter of sound both angels were gone, leaving Sam sitting in an empty hotel room mired in anger and fear. He wasn't sure what he should do now. His entire life had been spent with other people. First Dean and the father, then Jessica and his friends in college and then he was back with Dean again. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been completely alone and he hated it. _I need help._

There was only one person that might be able to help them. Sam grabbed his cell phone where it'd been stashed in the nightstand. Dialing the number he waited impatiently for it to connect. He ignored the flashing digital clock that said it was about 3:00am.

"Someone better be dead." The gruff voice sent warmth coursing through him.

"Bobby." There must have been something in his voice that tipped off the older hunter because there was a long pause before he answered.

"Sam, you okay?"

The old man had known that Dean had gone after his brother and then it had been crickets. But to get a call from Sam without knowing whether or not Dean had actually managed to save him? Well that set off all his considerable hunter instincts.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Okay, so that wasn't exactly true. But it was as close to the truth as Sam was going to tell Bobby over the phone.

There was another long uncomfortable silence and then, "Is that idiot brother of yers okay?" The silence on the other end of the phone was enough to answer Bobby's question.

Sam shifted and sat back against the headboard, holding the phone against his ear with trembling fingers; his eyes swam with unshed tears. "I don't know."

Bobby's tone changed to that of a worried father. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I was pretty sick after Dean found me and when I woke up he was gone. Everyone was gone." He heard sirens in the distance and the part of him that had spent his life running from the law tensed. He missed what Bobby has just asked. "Wait, what?"

"You sure you're okay?" He repeated softly.

Sam sighed, "Yeah I'm sure, Castiel helped me out."

"That's the angel, right?" Bobby didn't sound all that enthused about the celestial being's involvement. But then again, the old hunter probably wasn't all that enthused with how Dean had returned either. Bobby would know enough to understand that the only way the eldest Winchester could have returned from Hell was by becoming exactly what they had wanted him to be. Unfortunately that meant Dean couldn't be fully trusted. As much as that pained Bobby to admit it, it was true. Dean wasn't a sure thing anymore. "You do know he ain't right anymore? At least not completely."

Sam stood up and paced the small room. His bare feet reminded him that it was winter and the carpet in this cheap-ass motel was on the threadbare side. He sat down and grabbed socks, pulling them over his frozen toes as he spoke. "Whatever happened to Dean in Hell it didn't change who he is Bobby. Not at his core. He's still the same irritatingly over-protective brother he's always been." It was the first time that Sam had truly defended Dean since his _rebirth_ from hell and it felt good. For the first time he wasn't just saying these things to Bobby, Sam actually _believed_ them. He believed that for whatever reason Dean was, down to his soul, the same man he'd been before his trip down south. "I've seen it. I've seen _him._ Trust me Bobby, he's the same classic rock loving, leather jacket wearing, cheeseburger eating person he's always been."

"But that don't make a lick a sense, boy. How can Dean be the same?" The old hunters voice was gruff, but he was at least listening to Sam. "He was in Hell, Sam. Not some country club. Pretty sure there ain't no 'turn down' service in that place. You sure he didn't go darkside on ya? He could've ya know." It sounded disloyal and Bobby hated that, but it needed to be said.

"You think I don't know that? I don't have a clue how any of this works, Bobby. I don't know anymore than you do. I just _know_ that we gotta find him. If he's gone down that road then we'll just have make him do an illegal U-Turn. He's my brother; I can't lose him. Not again." Sam's plea resounded inside of their father's old friend and he sighed in slow acceptance. He'd never been able to deny these boys anything. Hell, they were as close to children as the hunter would ever get and he loved them more than anything.

"Okay, tell me where you are and I'll meet you as soon as I can get there. I might have some books that can shed some light on what we're dealing with here."

Sam allowed a hint of a smile to play at the corners of lips. He exhaled in relief, "Thank you, and bring anything about angels, demons, and the apocalypse." Sam hung up the phone and glanced at his bed. The covers were carefully thrown back and the bed barely looked slept in. He couldn't help it when his gaze shifted to Dean's bed and he felt an intense pang of loss. It pierced his heart and he gasped at the sudden and complete loneliness that followed. Sinking down to his knees he stared at what his future could've been if Dean hadn't been determined to get back. At what it could still be if Sam failed. Growing up it had never occurred to him that one day down the road his brother might not be in his life. Even when he'd been at college Sam had felt safe in the knowledge that Dean was out there somewhere saving people, hunting things, carrying on the family business. He smiled as his mind wandered into the past.

" _Come on Sammy, go talk to her." Dean grinned and took another swig of his orange soda. Music was blaring over the scratchy speakers hanging throughout the large room. Several tables had been claimed by groups of kids just looking for a place to hang out on a Friday night._

 _His green eyes flickered over to the petite brunette that kept tossing coy little glances in Sam's direction, a small smile playing along her glossy lips._

 _Sam's face flushed with embarrassment, "Shut up Dean." He ran his fingers through the fringes of his long hair. It was a nervous habit that he knew he should break, but he hadn't really applied himself, what was the point. He glanced over at his seventeen year-old brother standing there with all the confidence in the world, Sam pressed his lips together in jealousy. There was no way that Dean wasn't going to let him leave this arcade until he talked to Katie Telger. She was in Sam's biology class and he'd spent the better part of two months trying not to get caught staring at her._

 _Unfortunately his older brother had taken one look at her and then at Sam's face and he'd chuckled knowingly. Sometimes it seriously irked Sam how well Dean knew him; this was one of those times._

 _Dean pushed away from the 'Space Invaders' game, where he'd been casually leaning for the past twenty minutes cuffing Sam on the shoulder. "Come on, she's cute. Make a move."_

 _Rolling his eyes Sam tried to find anything else he could be doing at this exact moment; anything that would keep him from being forced into talking to his crush. He glanced over his shoulder at his tall model looking, cool-as-ice older brother and groaned. Dean had no trouble talking to girls, he never had. Which was a total one eighty from Sam, who had never been able to talk to girls easily. The only exception had been a girl named Marla that he'd met when they'd been stuck in St. Louis for two months._

 _She'd been a bit on the overweight side, but she'd been smart and Sam had found that conversations were easy with her. They'd formed an unlikely friendship that he'd been unhappy about losing when their father finished the case that had brought them there. They'd packed up the Impala and that had been that. Sam had never spoken to Marla again._

 _Katie was on the dance team, captain of the debate team, and the front-runner for class president in the coming student council elections. She was smart, pretty and so far out of his league that it was laughable. And yet those gigantic differences in their school social statuses would never have stopped Dean from sauntering over and striking up a conversation about the latest blockbuster movie. And had she seen it yet? No? Well then they should go. This weekend? Well that worked great for him._

 _And that would be that. Dean would have had her lip-gloss smeared across his own lips before the night was over. But Sam wasn't like his brother. He didn't have 'swagger' and he sure as hell didn't have any sort of 'game' where girls like Katie were concerned._

 _Quickly gathering up his coat he rushed toward the exit. It was the only way to get Dean out of there before he did something monumentally stupid. Sam thrust his long arms into the tattered coat and stepped out into the cold night air. He watched as his breath formed small puffs in front of him as he waited for his brother to follow him. After several minutes Sam wondered if Dean had actually seen him leave?_

 _Stomping his feet to keep the circulation going in his legs he crossed his arms over his chest and turned back toward the entrance. "Come on Dean." He muttered irritably._

 _He heard laughter just before several girls and a couple of guys walked past him toward the arcade. A part of him yearned for that type of normality. To have friends that he'd known for longer than a couple of weeks. 'Other than Dean that is.' He mentally dismissed his brother from that group. Sure he and Dean were friends, but they spent almost all of their time together and that strained things more often than not. By the time his brother exited the building Sam was ready to body slam him. His hands were numb and he couldn't even feel anything below his knees._

" _Nice of you to join me." He growled, his teeth chattered which took some of the menace out of his statement._

 _Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're the one that walked outside." He popped the locks on the Impala._

 _A tick started in Sam's jaw. "Because I didn't want you to do something stupid." He grabbed the cold handle of the passenger side door and yanked it open._

" _Hey! She didn't do anything to you, so you treat her like a lady or you're gonna be walking back to the motel." Dean's fingers ran lovingly along the sleek roof, a look of genuine appreciation in his green eyes._

 _Sam rolled his own eyes at his brother's unhealthy relationship with the car. Huffing, he dropped into the seat and scrubbed his palms against his eyes. His aggravation grew as he waited while Dean tossed his jacket into the back and then settled into the driver's seat. He hummed while he waited for the classic car to warm up. Turning he rifled through the box of tapes on the floor between them. Sam pointedly ignored him._

 _After what felt like forever they pulled out of the parking lot and headed North. Which was interesting because their cheap crap motel was South. "Uh, where we going?" Sam asked, his tone changing to more curious and confused than angry._

 _He was more than a bit miffed when his brother didn't bother to answer him. They continued to drive until the bright lights of the local Cinema came into view. Sam slumped in his seat; great they were off to see one of Dean's action flicks. He pulled in a long-suffering breath and shifted to stare out at the snow covered landscape. Without saying a word Dean pulled up outside the front doors and put the car in park before turning his full attention on Sam._

" _Well?"_

 _Sam turned incredulous eyes in his direction, "Well what?" Seriously? Like he was supposed to know what his brother was thinking?_

 _With a shrug Dean tipped his chin at the large front doors. Against his better judgment Sam lifted his gaze and his heart froze in his chest when he saw Katie standing just inside the entrance. He turned his confusion on the person sitting next to him. "What's going on Dean?"_

 _Dean chuckled at the 'struck in the back of the head' look his little brother was now wearing. "I am an awesome older brother. That's what is going on." His green gaze flickered to the girl watching out the window with an expectant expression. He patted Sam's shoulder and lightly shoved him toward the door. "She's waiting for you."_

 _Reaching into his front pocket Dean pulled out twenty bucks and held it out to Sam. He didn't know what to say, of all the things he'd assumed would happen tonight this hadn't been anywhere on that list._

" _She likes you Sammy. She was watching you out of the corner of her eyes the whole night." Dean answered tolerantly. It was one of the few times that he'd been able to pull something over on his baby brother and he was positively giddy inside._

" _She was?" Sam sounded so unsure that it made Dean's heart hurt. His brother had no idea just how many girls, in their many schools, had checked him out over the years._

 _With an indulgent smile Dean nodded. "She was." He glanced at the clock on the panel. "Better hurry the movie starts soon."_

 _Sam was stunned into silence. This was not the way he'd thought his night would end. Every now and then Dean shocked the mother loving shit outta him. This was one of those times. "What about dad?"_

 _Dean snorted, "Let me take care of dad. Just have a good time. I'll be back around ten to pick you up."_

 _Opening the door and stepping out into the night Sam wondered if Dean had any idea how much this one act meant to him? Their lives were so from normal that it was pathetic, but this made Sam feel_ like any other teenage boy _. And that was something he desperately wanted to be. He didn't want to be the kid whose mom had died in a tragic fire when he was a baby or the new kid in_ every _school; he just wanted to be_ normal _. Glancing back at Dean's grin he couldn't help but realize that his brother wanted that for him too._

"Sam?!" The sound of Castiel trying to get his attention caused him to jump and he realized that he'd missed the unique flutter that announced the return of an angel. Dean was right, he did need to pay closer attention or he was going to get himself killed. Blocking out the rest of his brother's warning he spun in the direction of the voice.

His eyes were still burning with raw emotion as he looked at the dark-haired man staring intently at him. "Son of a bitch Cas. I swear to God if you don't make some noise when you do that I'm getting you a bell." He waited for his heart to slide back out of his throat, willing it to retake its rightful place in his chest.

The angel's dark head tilted to the side. "Why would I need a bell?"

Sam sputtered and finally chose to stay silent.

Finally realizing that Sam wasn't going to say anything else Castiel continued. "We believe we have a lead on Dean's location."

Jumping up out of reflex Sam was immediately sorry when his world tilted dangerously. He blinked several times and then sank back onto his bed. "Where?" he finally managed.

"It is well guarded and we need you up to speed on your own power. Without it there is little chance that we will succeed in saving your brother."

"There's no time." Sam shot back tightly.

"We must make time. Sam we cannot save Dean without you and you are not ready to face what waits for us inside that room." Castiel looked sorry. All that did was piss Sam off more.

"Then fucking train me already? But come hell or high water, we leave at first light to save my brother."

The angel frowned. "I don't believe we can adequately train—"

"God-dammit Castiel, just figure it out. I'll do whatever I have to, but I am DONE waiting." Sam's eyes flashed with anger and determination. Somewhere in the back of his head he heard a soft voice, "I'm sorry Sam." It was Dean's and it was fading. They didn't have much time.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. Reviews do seem to speed along the chapter delivery process. And they're appreciated beyond measure.**

 **Author's Note:** _This chapter got out of hand (size wise), but I couldn't find a good place where it made sense to split it, so I didn't. Enjoy the new, very long, chapter._


	20. Two Lives, Different Futures

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 20**

 _Two Lives, Different Futures_

A past that had been long since been buried was dragged to the surface as Alistair went to work on Dean. He tried to send his mind elsewhere, but this was the master torturer of hell and he knew all the tricks. Alistair talked incessantly and Dean found that almost made this worse, he couldn't block out the pain and he sure as hell couldn't ignore that _voice._ The drug kept him lucid enough to have complete knowledge of what was going on, while keeping him completely incapacitated. Not even the angelic grace burning inside his soul could fight the combined effects of the drug and the white-eyed demon.

The bronze blade pulled slowly along his entire right side and Dean nearly bit through his lip in an effort to keep from crying out. He'd spent so much time screaming when he'd been in hell the last time that he's be damned if he'd give the bastard the satisfaction this time.

Blood ran in steady streams of crimson down his side, dripping onto the stained grate below the rack. With each of the long incisions Alistair was chipping away at his sanity. The demon talked about what Sam had gone through while Dean had been in Hell. He took great pleasure in detailing how low Sam had gotten one night. How he'd almost eaten a bullet when he'd run out of whiskey to drown his loneliness and shame in.

The bastard chatted about what the angels, not to mention the demons, had in store for the youngest Winchester. How he'd no longer be himself; he talked about how Sammy was going to be the beginning of the end. He was the one true vessel for Lucifer and his triumphant return to earth would spell the end to free will and humanity in general. How Sam would take over control of Hell and command all those in service of it, demon, witch and monster alike.

Dean tried to focus on ignoring the fiery pain that was spreading throughout his body like a wildfire through dry prairie grass. The damn blade was leaving a blinding wash of agony in its wake each time Alistair changed direction. Dean ground his teeth together in pain. But this didn't feel like last time, first off, it hurt a hell of a lot more than when he'd been sent downstairs originally. Mostly, it seemed as though Alistair _wanted_ to taunt him; to make him feel worthless, which wasn't hard to do with this particular Winchester. Dean had questioned his worth for the whole of his life, why would his death be any different?

But there was one thing that the demon seemed to have forgotten; this wasn't Dean's first rodeo. He'd already had his insides turned into crimson spaghetti and inspite of the debilitating pain; he would survive this again. This time he _knew_ what to expect and he could guard against the splitting agony that would've broken a lesser man.

"You know your brother begged for us to kill you?" The husky voice cut through the darkness and pierced his thoughts. "Did you know that?" He didn't want to deal with what you've become."

Dean's eyes spun in the direction of the new voice. A tall lean young man, maybe twenty or so, stepped out of the darkness. He was picking at his fingernails with a long slim blade unlike anything that Dean had ever seen before. He racked his brain trying to place the man. Something about him was so damn familiar but Dean couldn't put his finger on what it was.

He spat the blood out onto the floor beneath him, lifting his blood soaked eyes to look directly at the new arrival. "You guys telling me bedtime stories now?" He ground out around the pain working its way along his side. Alistair had been paying particular attention to his ribs today, Dean was fairly certain that several of them were broke or out of place. He swallowed when the guy just smiled and lifted his eyebrow in amusement. _God I wish had my power, I'd wipe that smirk right off your face buddy._

"Oh, aren't we the snarky one." The young man walked around the iron rack and stared down at the damage done to the hybrid. Something about him shifted, like he was interested in what was being done to the man chained to the iron. Struggling, Dean tried desperately to focus on his face when the man looked over at Alistair, who'd been abnormally quiet, content to wait in the corner while this man looked at the damage done to Dean's body. "I don't suppose we can stay away from his face? I actually quite like it." Grinning he reached down and wiped at the blood dribbling from Dean's left eye. It hurt like hell when he applied pressure reopening the gash.

He leaned so close to Dean's face that he could feel the blonde's breath brushing over his damp skin. "It'll look good on me." He whispered.

That got Dean's attention. He turned his head and glared at the young man. This entire time he'd been worried about these dicks getting their hands on Sammy, apparently he also had a secret admirer. "In case you hadn't noticed, this bodies already leased out." He stammered when the guy shoved his finger inside one of the open wounds between two ribs. Dean's vision darkened and a part of him wished that he could give up, let these asshats have what they wanted and hide in some tiny corner of his of his own mind. But there was Sam to consider and he wouldn't allow his baby brother to be corrupted by these dicks.

Alistair stepped forward pulling Dean's agonized eyes in his direction. "Ah yes, but we have an arrangement that will fix that." The malevolent grin that spread across his face left Dean cold inside.

The blonde-haired man turned his brilliant, almost glowing, gaze on the demon. Nothing in those icy blue eyes was friendly; he looked as though merely talking to the white-eyed demon was so far beneath him that it was laughable. A sneer worked its way onto the man's face and he tilted his head to the side. With some effort he said, "Yes. We do."

With that statement two other beings materialized out of the darkness, sauntering forward like they owned the joint. Dean groaned inwardly when he recognized Zachariah and Uriel. "Your job is to break him." He stepped closer to the demon causing him to actually stumble back a step as real fear ghosted over his features. "Or I'll conveniently forget our _arrangement_."

Forcing down the fire racing along his nerves, he blinked through the blood and asked, "Who are you?"

The blond looked genuinely surprised at the question. Apparently he'd assumed that Dean would _divine_ this dudes identity out of the ethos.

"Wow, I was told you were brighter than this." He smiled and glanced at the other two angels who laughed. "Obviously all the brains went to Sam." The smile faded, "At least you got the looks."

Dean wanted to shoot some snarky retort at the douchebag, but he found his mouth otherwise occupied when Uriel slammed his knuckles into the already battered face.

"Don't damage that face to much Uriel." He turned back to Dean's silent form. "I suppose you wouldn't recognize me, would you? Seeing as we never officially met." The man spun around and then squatted next to Dean. His movement was tight and graceful like a cat. Whoever it was he was extremely well trained. "Can't see the resemblance can you? I suppose he looked bit different when he died, younger, more weary and beaten down by life and loss." He leaned in so his intense sapphire colored eyes were only inches from Dean's face. "He was tired of watching your father haul your sorry ass all across the country. You do realize that's why John left that first time? He needed to be with the one son that wasn't tainted."

When Dean said nothing he continued, "Remember when he disappeared and that sent you racing to California? And your selfish decision to pull little Sammy away from his normal safe life; dragging him back into this hell of monsters and death." He smiled as realization settled heavily on the older brother.

Dean's eyes widened, his eyebrows knitting together as he understood the gravity of what the man was saying. He pieced it together with what he already knew and the affect was devastating. He stared into the unblinking cool blue eyes of the man watching him with a raised eyebrow. _No, that can't be true. Dad did not do that; he wouldn't do that, would he?_ But as he stared at the younger man, his heart sank as reality set in.

"You never knew you had another little brother did you?" The man said as he stepped forward. The hatred shining out of his eyes was palpable and aimed solely at Dean. "It was your like that destroyed my life." He hissed angrily.

Dean shook his head, immediately regretting the movement when it felt like a maul had been hammered between his eyes.

"Took you long enough to catch on. I had to break the whole thing down for you, damn I see why everyone says that Sammy is the smart one." He stood, stepping away. "I am your brother, Dean. Or I was. The brother that you left defenseless to the evils of this world; and when they came for me I had not defense. My mother had no defense because you and Sam were screwed up to your eyeballs in the supernatural. But that's okay, because you see, I'm not helpless anymore."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean rasped, he blinked the surprise away as anger rose to take its place. How the hell had this happened? How had his family become the turning point for the war to end all wars?

Alistair had snatched him up and now he finds out that these body-snatching sons a bitches had stolen his unknown brother's body too? But this wasn't the voice of a human, there was something else pulling this puppet's strings. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you don't know who I am. I do tend to keep a bit of a low profile." He glanced around at the men surrounding Dean's prone form. "I hadn't planned on talking to anyone until I was in possession of your body, but desperate times an all." Leaning in again, "I will take that body though."

"Occupado." Dean shot back.

"Not for long." The blonde smiled. "My name is Michael. And I can make do with Adam's body for now. But to be at full power, since you have some of my 'grace', I will be taking the meat suit you bargained away in hell." He glared over his shoulder at Zachariah before continuing. "I will have my rightful body, Dean." His voice dropped as anger finally surface, before going icy cold as he stared unblinking at the deceitful soul in front of him.

Confusion nearly stole Dean's voice, but not quite. "I thought it was destiny. Me and Sam being vessels." Dean tried to keep his thoughts centered on the conversation as a wave of pain brought on by the liquid flowing through his veins.

Michael rolled his eyes and looked over at Uriel in utter exasperation. "Wow, you really are the dumb one. It's a bloodline Dean. You, Sammy, your father, your brother and so on back throughout time." He reached out and shoved his finger into a particularly nasty hole made by Alistair's blade and then twisted. Dean couldn't hold back the cry of pain as he automatically tried to twist away. His body betraying him when it refused to move and the archangel ground his fingers into the gaping hole, widening it with nothing more than his hand.

"While you are my true-vessel, you aren't my only vessel." He shifted from right to left and pulled at the wound again. Dean's face scrunched into a mask of agony and this time he did bite through his bottom lip adding to his agony. "But don't you worry Dean. I still want _your_ body. After all it's such a prime specimen of humanity. However I am quite patient and I'll wait until Alistair has loosened up your hold and then you'll be cast out."

He tore his fingers away and Dean gasped as his body spasmed and bucked against the restraints. Michael turned toward Alistair, "Get back to work. In the mean time I think I'll go have a little chat with Sammy." Anticipation suffused his face and he grinned. "Maybe little Sammy's body on the rack next to him will motivate him?"

"Probably not." Uriel said, disgust thick in his deep voice.

"I'll kill you if you touch him." Dean spat, ignoring the blood that had pooled in his mouth, his eyes shifting from the black-green to pure obsidian black.

The angel turned, a flush of pleasure staining his face. "I'm sure you'll try." And then he was gone, along with his little minions. A bolt of fear stole his breath at the sudden silence; Dean was left completely alone for the first time in days and his mind wandered into all the wrong places. Desperation motivated him to try and shift his body enough to shift the silver needle. It was excorticating and he nearly blacked out twice. Falling back against iron rack he tried to focus his thoughts on the tiny stream of power that had been just beyond his reach since he'd awoken days ago. Shoving his mind past the point of failure he blocked out everything but that single thread of power. It felt as though his mind was being torn apart as the pain assaulted him from every muscle and nerve causing flashes of darkness to swim at the edges of his vision.

Dean had no idea how long he struggled or even if he'd ever lost consciousness, he felt like a rubber band stretched to its limits and if he could just push at it then maybe…

The sudden snapping sensation was so unexpected that his mind lost control and he sank into the waiting darkness.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam considered the nuclear option, find a demon and bleed them dry in order to save Dean. All that saved him from making that choice was the fear he'd seen on his brother's face; it had been the moment that Dean had understood what heaven and hell had in store for them. Sam sighed and inhaled deeply to control his racing heart.

A second flutter pulled his wandering attention back to the room, narrowing his eyes at the small archangel Sam wondered whether or not they were making a mistake in trusting them. What if they'd been involved in Dean's disappearance? Hell, what if they'd orchestrated this entire thing?

The blonde huffed indignantly, "I can see what you're thinking Sam. I didn't have a damn thing to do with your brother's abduction. That little stunt is all on my brothers." Gabriel defended himself against a thought that Sam had never uttered. His eyebrows lifted as he watched the angel pulled a candy bar from his pocket and rip into it like a starving man. When Sam remained quiet, he raised his golden eyes and shrugged; "Besides that's not really my style."

Leaning against the wall he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the youngest Winchester. It was like he was being assessed by the archangel and Sam wasn't sure that he liked that.

Gabriel's gaze shifted to Castiel and he shook his head. "Doesn't look like much does he?"

That garnered Sam's irritation, "You do realize I can hear you, right?" He repressed the urge to shake the shit out of the man since he was pretty sure he'd get his ass handed to him for that.

Gabriel lifted an eyebrow in amusement, "Yes, yes you would."

"I really wish you'd stop doing that." He glowered at the two angels. Both of them had invaded his thoughts at this point and he was starting to feel a bit violated.

Castiel thinned his lips and looked at his brother, "Is listening a breach in trust?"

"Apparently humans seem to think so."

Rolling his eyes Sam grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom. "I'll be out in ten minutes and then we can figure out how to get Dean back." The comment was shot over his shoulder and there it was clear that this was not a suggestion.

SPN SPN SPN

Slowly awareness worked through Dean's body as he clawed his way back toward consciousness. Light pressure pulled at his wrists sending shards of pain racing along his arms and through his shoulders. There was no light surrounding him, just the faint glow of the pit beneath his rack. With his mind slipping between where he was and what he remembered, Dean wasn't sure which one was real. He tried to move, twisting his hips he groaned when the abraded skin of his wrists pulled painfully against the cuffs.

 _Oh that's right, angel jewelry._ Memories pierced through him and he arched against the agony they caused.

 _He was staring into a mirror, his face pale and haggard looking. But that wasn't what left him panting, it was him. Dean knew that the reflection was him, but he was older…a lot older. Lines etched the corners of his eyes and he looked weary with the every day slog of their lives. He leaned against the wall, scrubbing his hand down his stubbled face before his eyelids dropped closed._

 _The image flashed forward and Dean stalked through a long hallway. He didn't recognize the place, but it was obvious that he was searching for something. Or more importantly he was searching for someone. He held a long 22oz hammer in his right hand and there was something so menacing about him that it Dean on edge._

" _Come on Sammy. Let's grab a beer; talk about it." The low gravelly tone wasn't familiar and it sent tendrils of fear up and down his spine. Unreasonable rage and a calmness that he rarely felt settled heavily on him. He stopped and listened for the quiet footfalls of his prey. Dark intensions overwhelmed him and he knew that he would kill whatever he was stalking. There was no chance of failure, it simply was not an option and he 'needed' this kill._

 _The soft steps stopped just around the corner from him, smiling he stepped around the corner and with the accuracy of a professional he slammed the back of the hammer into the tile wall. It wasn't until he realized what he'd been searching that the rage receded and pain crushed him. On the ground at his feet was a growing pool of blood hidden beneath the fallen body._

" _What have you done?" Castiel's shocked question resounded through Dean's head like a death knell._

With a 'snap' Dean was against strapped to the rack, his breathing ragged as he stared into the darkness. _Oh God, did I just kill Sam?_ He didn't realize he was crying until a tear leaked into his ear and the deep burn of emotion scorched through him.

A soft sigh from his left pulled his gaze, "Do you understand what's at stake?" The unmistakable voice of _Death_ broke the silence as she stepped into his view.

He shook his head, "Why are you doing this to me?" The words were strained, ragged with the torrent of emotions he was drowning in.

She didn't move, her fingers opening and closing around the scythe at her side. Billy's dark eyes were strangely visible in the extremely limited light. "It's necessary."

His breathing hitched, "Why?"

She blew out a breath and pressed her lips together. "Because you and your brother are important."

Dean shook his head, pulling against the cuffs above his head. "Then get me the hell outta here." He knew she wouldn't release him, but it was worth a try. This reaper had some wonky rule about interfering. Silently he wondered if all the reapers were so hell-bent on following the rules? An image of Tessa's pretty face reminded that, 'no', Billy wasn't the only reaper that refused to bend cosmic rules.

"I can't." She answered simply. No remorse. Nothing to suggest that he could convince her to change her mind.

"Why?" He asked, his clenched teeth making him sound more lethal that he was.

Raising an elegant dark eyebrow she shook her head at his ignorance. "When I go this gig I got a new rule book and because I now stand witness to a much larger picture. The life you were destined to live would've sent you and Sam down much different roads that you currently walk."

Swallowing he wondered why she couldn't just give the straight up facts? What the hell was it with cosmic beings and their Yoda shit? "Okay Qigong, think you can lay off the mystic 'force' shit?"

She didn't even crack a smile; lifting her scythe she slammed the end into the ground once causing a brilliant red glow to flare to life. In that moment he was unhappy to be reminded that he was lying on the rack completely naked. Well except for the massive amounts of blood painting his normally pale skin. But other than that he was wearing nothing but the suit he'd been born with.

Death's eyes shifted as she took in his vulnerable state before slowly raising her gaze to meet the guarded black and green of Dean's hybrid eyes. "Always so snarky. If you had put that same effort into learning how to control your powers, you wouldn't be in the position you now find yourself." She narrowed her gaze, "And neither would Sam."

At the mention of his brother's name Dean struggled like a feral animal against the restraints. His mind expanded and battered against the power of the cuffs. They didn't so much as shake where they held him hostage. Stepping forward she set the tip of the scythe against his heart, Dean felt something snap against his soul and wash of understanding settled over him. Somehow he knew she wasn't here to make things worse, she had a purpose in showing herself at this time.

"Dean, that other you, the one where you only spend a few months on Alistair's rack, that version of _you_ will make so many mistakes. But he manages to keep fighting against the coming darkness. He survives death, purgatory, the mark—" She leaned in, her lips less than an inch from his ear. "—He survives Sam's death and comes out stronger for it."

Dean's heart shuddered the moment she mentioned Sam. An ache that he couldn't have imagined in his worst nightmares spread through him and stole his breath. _Oh God, Sam dies?_ He felt the burn of tears behind his eyes desperately wishing he could call her a liar but she had _no_ reason to make this up. Death had nothing on the line here, but he had _everything_ resting on this second chance.

She pulled back so that he was staring into her dark eyes. "You and Sam? You're important on a cosmic scale and because of freewill _you_ have completely upended that."

A scream rent the air and sent a shiver through Dean as he stared at the literal personification of death. Ignoring the pain travelling through his body every time he took a breath he pulled at his wrists.

The corporeal form began to fade into the darkness, her last words floated through the humid dank air. "Your destiny diverged when you accepted Zachariah's offer, I am attempting to correct that."

The cuffs holding him against the rack snapped open spilling him to the floor in a painful heap of damaged flesh. He gasped at the sudden change in his position. The needle had been torn from his flesh leaving an injury that resembled a black spider's web. He was nothing but _pain._ Struggling to catch his breath he curled in on himself, he just needed a moment to collect his thoughts; after all he'd just been informed that Sam dies. Somehow the decisions that he makes would lead to his little brother's death.

The gut wrenching, soul-sucking agony of holding his little brother's body as the life faded from his eyes and his muscles ceased to function, incapacitated him. Lying on the serrated grating of the floor Dean ignored several new gashes along his hip. Power was seeping back into his cells, but his current emotional state hid that from his conscious mind.

The dream or vision, he wasn't sure which, flashed inside his mind and all he could see was Sam's destroyed body. A single blow to the side of his brother's head, two marks that Dean couldn't quite place embedded in his temple. Sam's normally expressive eyes were unmoving, staring directly ahead of him minus the light that generally shone from them. It was like someone had reached inside his head and stolen his worst nightmare and then made him watch it over and over again.

SPN SPN SPN

Stepping out of the bathroom, Sam was surprised to see that the angels hadn't move so much as a muscle since he'd walked away. Staring at the two angels, his irritation levels so high he couldn't see straight at the moment. Anger was coursing through him as he spun on Gabriel, "If you're not here to help me, then get the hell out."

The dark haired angel's eyes flashed dangerously. "We are here, aren't we?"

Leaning against the door he rubbed a towel through his hair and glared at the angelic beings. "I can't lose him Cas."

Gabriel's eyebrows shot up at the nickname. "Cas?" A slow smiled spread across his lips. "Oh, I think I like that." Grinning, he pushed off the wall stepping directly in front of Sam. The golden eyes appraised him as he stared at the human. Shifting his head he leaned in and then snorted, "He is mid-transformation, _Cas_." The archangel turned mischievous golden eyes in his younger brother's direction..

"I am aware of his status." The dark haired angel said.

"Status?" Sam said, irritation thick in his tone.

Ignoring the comment the smaller angel continued, "We need the hybrid in order to train him properly." Gabriel responded as he leaned in closer to Sam smiling when the larger man moved away from the unwanted attention. "Or else we need another demon."

That got Sam's attention. "What?" He could not have heard that correctly. There was no way that they _needed_ a demon in their lives.

"Your powers are beginning to grow Sam." Castiel gestured between himself and his brother. "We can help you to control certain aspects of it, but the more nefarious powers require someone with demonic understanding." Glancing at the archangel, he frowned. "That is something that we do not possess."

"And Dean does?" Sam spat out angrily. They'd all but called his brother a piece of hell-spawn and that made him irrationally angry. The thought surprised him and he frowned with rising irritation.

Gabriel's eyes shifted and he shook his head; his blonde curls bouncing against his forehead. "He is _hell-spawn_ , Sam. But he is also part of my brother, which means there is something good inside him too." He had a dropped his normally quippy tone, instead shifting to one that was deadly serious.

"Don't do that." Sam said coldly, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"What? Read your mind?" Gabriel groaned and blew out an exasperated breath. "But you take too long to simply say what you're thinking." He whined.

Burying his true feelings, Sam shook his head. "Fine, whatever. How do we save my brother?"

Castiel remained silent but his eyes slid sideways as he too waited for an answer.

"We teach you some control and then we surprise them and steal him back." Gabriel answered like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Three days, Sam. That's all I need to show you enough control to save your brother."

"We will rescue Dean from Alistair—" Castiel paused before continuing. "And Michael."

Gabriel swallowed thickly. It pained him that his brother's couldn't get along. They'd been fighting since the beginning of time and now they were about to involve every human being on earth in their bullshit grudge match. He'd found over the millenniums that he liked humans, they were interesting and they made their own choices; something that he valued. These little monkeys were worth saving. And when he considered the bond between these two humans specifically? They reminded him of the intense bond that connected him with his own brothers.

Glancing at the tall gangly youth he took a deep breath, if Sam proved worthy he had a shot at beating the devil. The only thing that could destroy that slim chance was if Sam learned what it would cost him _personally_ to do it. Golden eyes shifted to blue and the angels nodded silently as he determined that it was not the time to tell Sam of the cost.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. Reviews do seem to speed along the chapter delivery process. It is so nice to hear from you all. Thank you to those that continue to read and support this little project.**

 **Author's Note:** _The idea of incorporating Billy and using her instead of the original incarnation of death has opened many potential storylines that I hadn't anticipated. This chapter is one result of that decision._


	21. The Devil's Tower

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 21**

 _The Devil's Tower_

Sam stared wide-eyed at the brightly lit computer screen, his head was pounding painfully as he continued to search for anything that might help him track down his brother's location. He knew it was a desperate attempt at drowning out the active portions of brain; it wasn't working very well.

His leads were exactly, slim to none, he hadn't learned much of after he'd been cut off from Dean's stay in the pit; mostly because his emotionally stunted older brother had refused to tell him. It wasn't that he'd lied about anything, but he'd simply clammed up when Sam asked for specifics. What he _did_ know was terrifying and the idea that that white-eyed bastard had sunk his claws back into Dean was making Sam's stomach turn. He would have done anything to save his brother from living through that pain again. With a long sigh he set the laptop aside and shoved his palms into his eyes and rubbed, hard. They felt gritty and the burning pain just behind them made reading blurry and uncomfortable.

The entirety of their lives consisted of beating stacked odds, but what they were facing now was beyond anything that had been thrown down their cosmic lane before. Turning he shot a tight-lipped look at the angels, Sam still wasn't certain they were on his side and that worried him considering what was at stake now. They were standing in the small kitchenette, speaking in low tones he couldn't quite catch. Without a word he grabbed his laptop, flipped open the top and waited for it to light up again.

"Should we tell him?" Gabriel asked, staring at the youngest Winchester. He'd been surprised to realize that he actually liked these two knuckleheads. That had been one of the reasons he'd tried to make Sam understand that he couldn't save his brother from Hell. That little stint at the Mystery Spot had been more than just entertainment. Okay, it had been damn entertaining too, but it had really been his attempt at setting these brothers back on the paths God had set for them.

Plus, if he was really honest with himself he was still a little pissed that these brothers had gotten the best of him back in that college town. As he got to know them, part of him, a tiny minuscule part, didn't want the brothers to suffer the massive failure they were destined to without his divine intervention. He turned toward his brother and waited as the warrior angel debated the question.

The dark haired angel appeared to be considering the best course of action. His dark blue eyes kept sliding sideways to where Sam intentionally ignored them. Castiel had always been far more difficult to control than most lower level angels. Generally only the archangels exercised the right to 'think for themselves'. But Cas, as Sam called him, had questioned their roles and orders even when it hadn't been his place. That was why Gabriel had taken a keen interest in him. This little angel had had the _balls_ to disobey his older brothers, to seek his own path.

Castiel finally shook his head, his decision reached. "No, I do not think so; at least not yet. He doesn't trust us Gabriel and that would only provide more evidence why he shouldn't." His intense gaze flickered back to the young man; Sam was engrossed in something on the computer screen. He was hunched forward in what looked like an incredibly uncomfortable posture, especially for someone as large as Sam.

Without looking at him, "Stop staring at me, Cas. It's creepy." Sam's eyes lifted and he pinned the dark haired angel with a steely gaze. "If you have time to stare you have time to teach me how to save my brother." It wasn't a request, this was Sam's commitment to absorb whatever they would give him. He had no frame of reference here, so Sam wasn't sure if he should be exhilarated or terrified.

Gabriel stepped forward, "Take my hand, Sam." There was a moment of reluctance in Sam's posture as he glanced over at Castiel. Finally he closed his laptop and stood up, he tilted a little as he settled onto unsteady legs. Hesitantly he closed the distance and cautiously touched the smaller man on the wrist. Sam felt the familiar nausea slam into his ribs and twist them into a pretzel. He doubled over as his feet landed on solid ground and his knees turned to jelly.

Before he knew it Sam found himself leaning over as he threw up his lunch all over a seriously pissed off ant pile. Once he'd finished he spat the aftertaste of vomit into the teeming insects.

Looking at Gabriel through the slits of his eyes Sam grumbled in a low voice. "I really wish you guys would warn me before you do that." Hauling himself upright he dragged his arm across his mouth wiping away the evidence of his sensitive stomach. The dim headache that had been sitting behind his eyes all day intensified to a pounding sledgehammer of rhythmic pain. He blinked slowly and shook his head a few times hoping it would clear the cobwebs before glaring over at the archangel.

"The trick is to bend your knees more." Gabriel said as he demonstrated a plié. It was ridiculous and all it managed to do was irritate the youngest Winchester to his very core.

"I'll remember that." Sam groused, his eyes slowly taking in the surrounding area. They were standing on a solid rock formation, there didn't seem to be anyway to get on this precipice other than doing some heavy duty climbing; which he did _not_ do. A sudden wave of vertigo had Sam spreading his legs and trying to slow his breathing.

Castiel watched as Sam's breathing increased to nearly a pant before adding, "Try not to hyperventilate Sam."

Sending a ' _what the fuck'_ look at the angel he finally placed where he'd seen the rocky structure before. "Why am at the top of the Devil's Tower?" Sam had seen the natural formation in a report he'd done in eighth grade. Not to mention, Dean had made him watch Cliffhanger more times than he could count. _Dean and his obsession with ridiculous action flicks._ It had been a source of contention when they'd been younger, but he would give _anything_ to have a movie-marathon with his older brother again. Sam was unprepared for the pangs of regret and self-loathing that nearly undid him.

"Well, for one it's called the _devil's tower_ , so where better to learn to control your demonic bloodlust?" Gabriel said as he wriggled his eyebrows, the humor in his voice was lost on his two companions. He sighed.

Castiel rolled his eyes but remained silent. Which was probably a good thing as far as Sam was concerned.

Glaring at the archangel he clenched his teeth and forced out, "Thank you for the useless information." Sam turned toward the slowly setting sun. It was a blur of multiple colors; simply intoxicating to behold as the reds and yellows ran together creating a beautiful orange canvas that was breathtaking and scary at the same time. But as the orange faded into blood-red Sam found the beauty stripped away into a hellish parody of that same sunset.

Thoughts of his brother and what he might be going through tore Sam from the moment, he twisted toward the archangel. "No more jokes. How do we save him?"

Gabriel shrugged indifferently, "Just trying to lighten the mood, jeez. Take a chill pill, mom." Turning, he walked right up to Sam before pushing him toward the edge.

A brisk gust of wind pulled at his clothing making Sam stumble on suddenly unsteady legs. His stomach climbing to somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. Damn thing thumped so fast he was shocked it didn't fly out of his chest and splatter on the distant rocks. "What the hell are you doing?" Sam squeaked, caught off guard by the unexpected actions of archangel. Sam stumbled backwards as his legs wobbling dangerously when he looked over the edge. Sam gulped down the very _human fear_ that suddenly and completely enveloped him.

"Training." Gabriel shot back. There was no smile on his face this time and his golden eyes had clouded with a cold calculated look; he continued to shove Sam closer to the edge. The taller man struck out in a desperate attempt to stop the backward movement of his body; Gabriel easily deflected the blow and pushed the him with only the power of angelic grace. "Sam, you have to learn what it is to fight with your mind; not that enormous body of yours."

Castiel stepped forward adding his own wisdom. It seemed to startled Sam more than alleviate his fears. "Your body has weaknesses that your mind does not."

Irritated and scared Sam shot back, "What the hell does that even mean?" Suddenly he found himself far closer to the edge of the precipice than he was strictly comfortable with. He'd never been overly fond of heights, though he didn't have the _phobia_ of it that Dean did, but truthfully he'd rather his two feet remain on solid terra firma.

"It means you need to concentrate. Look to the wind and use it." Castiel answered like it was the easiest thing in the world and Sam was an idiot for not grasping the concept.

"What?!" Sam's voice broke as his heels skidded along the edge of the rock face and his backward momentum carried him over the edge. The next thing Sam knew he was falling. His stomach shot up into his throat as he flailed, a scream of fear ripping from his throat. The rushing wind was deafening, tearing away the sailor's curse that followed the cry of shocked surprise. Sam had one thought that repeated over and over inside his frantic mind, 'he'd failed Dean'. That realization sent a spiral of disgust in his own shockingly poor ability to save his brother coursing through every fiber of his being. It hurt in the deep dark places of his damaged soul.

SPN SPN SPN

Awareness returned slowly causing Dean to groan when his head ached with nearly blinding fiery jabs of pain. Small things irritated his body first, sharp jagged edges of metal stabbed into multiple places along his body. _No, it isn't irritation; it's pain._ His wrists burned with a merciless corrosive sensation that went straight to every nerve he had and lit them up. Struggling to pull his shattered thoughts into some type order expended energy that he simply didn't have.

Flashes of Sam alive warred with images of Sam dead; Dean felt like his head was going to explode with the emotional fallout. He hadn't felt the intensity of these very human _feels_ since he'd been _human_. Could someone fall out of practice when it came to emotions? He didn't know, but based on his current state he'd have to bet the farm on a 'yes'.

With a mental 'heave' he forced his eyelids to part. His body was locked in a prone position and that wasn't acceptable so he slowly shifted his trembling arms beneath himself and pushed. His vision grayed out and his body vehemently protested the changed position, but eventually Dean managed to fold himself over onto his backside. _And oh dear God did it fucking hurt!_ It hurt a hell of a lot more than he'd anticipated; the simple act of leaning forward sent pain shooting through his left knee and up through his entire frame. _That's right Alistair shoved that damned blade through my fucking joint._ Finally taking a chance, he dropped his gaze to the offending knee and shuttered at the long, almost surgical, incision that stretched from his upper shinbone across his kneecap and stopped just below his thigh muscle. The white of bone was clearly visible, even in the hellish red light; he hissed angrily at the sight.

The blades Alistair had used were made of bronze and had been blessed by a medieval priest and then carved with ancient runes. Those damned things were nearly incapacitating for demons; apparently he was no exception to that just because he wasn't a _full_ demon. _That's just wonderful. Can anything else possibly go wrong?_

He shook his head several times before regretting the action when his stomach took serious offense; Dean barely managed to fall forward before he was spilling… _absolutely nothing_ onto the grate. Although he shouldn't have been surprised, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd actually eaten. So yeah, the acidic bile burning the shit out of his throat was a crummy reminder of that.

Dean had no idea how long he dry-heaved. He was intensely grateful when the muscle contractions along his ribs stopped and he could take a small breath. The overwhelming taste of sulfur left on his tongue made him immediately regret that. With a groan he sank back and blinked hard to refocus the jumbled thoughts inside his skull. He did his best to ignore the waves of pain rolling up from his lower half. Inhaling, he admitted, at least to himself, that he was a mess. None of this had gone the way he'd planned; _none of it_.

During his entire planning phase Dean had not considered that Alistair would get ahold of him again. _That had been naïve on his part; he understood that now._ And he sure as hell hadn't thought that the angels would get in on the 'Dean Winchester beat down' festivities. Sammy wasn't supposed to get snatched up and dosed on demon blood before he could get to him and never in his wildest dreams had Dean thought he'd be teaming up with angels. God, none of this had factored into his 'escape and save Sam plan', otherwise known as project 'bitch'. He'd dubbed it that when there had been a possibility that the demons would break him. Dean wasn't going to put his brother in danger and Alistair wouldn't know if he was babbling incoherently or if the random words meant something.

But then Death had made an unscheduled encore appearance and now he had more new memories, _or were they premonitions,_ he had no clue what to call them. She'd downloaded insights into a future that had never happened, at least not for him. He had felt everything that ' _other Dean'_ had. And since he didn't know what to call himself in an alternate future, _other-Dean_ would have to do. He'd been forced to endure the highest 'highs' and the lowest 'lows' that _other Dean_ had lived through. He'd been sick to learn that things just kept spiraling down the crapper in their lives. Part of him hadn't thought that their lives could suck any worse; apparently he'd been wrong.

There were many things he didn't understand and some of the references she'd made, made no sense. Like the 'mark', what the hell was the _mark_? Judging by her evasiveness Dean was damn certain she wouldn't be elaborating on that subject so it was probably a _bad thing_.

As much as he wanted to sift through the new memories, Dean didn't have the time right now. He needed to get out of this place and back to Sam before those angel dicks did something bat-shit crazy with him, nothing else mattered; it couldn't. Reigning in the emotional turmoil coiled in his gut, Dean buried it under the anger that was always simmering.

Steeling against the pain he was about to cause himself, he squeezed his hand between his shoulder and the searing rack before forcing his damaged body up onto his good leg. Every muscle tensed with pain and he nearly collapsed when the agony hit him. Sweat rolled down his scabbed and bruised skin; Dean ignored the sizzle of it hitting the hot grate. He doubted that there was any part of him that didn't bear some kind of injury courtesy of his time back on that fucking _rack_. Hell, he had no clue how long he'd even been here, which meant that the list of things that could've come after Sammy was extensive.

Time had little to no meaning when your strapped to the _rack_ , which meant that he had no idea how long he'd been there.

Grinding his teeth together he turned his thoughts inward, pressing against the restrictive band that bound his mind he waited for something, anything to give; just a little. He could feel it was still there but it was stretching and he hoped that if he pushed on it enough it would break.

Dean was having difficulty concentrating what with his body demanding his full attention. God, he'd thought he was done with this type of pain. A small piece of him had believed that the whole _demon_ thing meant he wouldn't suffer as horribly as he had as a human.

 _Yeah, what a joke that was. Shit hurts just as much now as it did then._ He gasped and leaned against the edge of the rack, struggling to get his pain under control. With difficulty he lifted his right hand, grasping at the hole Alistair had left in his side. Bastard had shoved one of those bronze blades and _twisted_ , asshat. Dean couldn't heal himself, and he was more than a bit pissed about that. Hell, he'd watched demons take swan dives out of fifth floor windows and they'd walked away, but not him. Nope, there was no easy way out for a Winchester. Jesus, he should've known better. He could still feel Michael's fingers fishing around between his ribs. _God must really hate us._

But he had learned a few useful things, first it appeared that _Michael_ was calling the shots and second he and Sam were the keys to this dystopian world the archangels were obsessed with. A larger part of him was furious with his father for not warning them that they had a _brother_ out there somewhere. That little piece of information would've been nice to know, particularly knowing that this whole 'vessel' thing was limited by a _bloodline_!

 _What-the-fuck-ever._ Dean thought as he inhaled in short shallow breaths and then shoved against the band around his power. Pain sliced through his head and he nearly blacked out when his skull felt like it was splitting apart. But he found the strength to keep pushing, that old Winchester 'can do attitude' took front and center. With extreme difficulty a small piece of his power extended outside of wherever he was; searching for Sam's aura. He didn't dare allow his mental _eyes_ to glance back at whatever he'd escaped, Dean was keenly aware that it might destroy his concentration.

He floated on the light as he searched for his brother's psychic trail of warm blues mixed with deep purple. Dean had only seen it for a moment when they'd been in that motel room and he hadn't known what the hell he was looking at then, but he did now. His searching mind located the traces of _Sam,_ which gave him some idea where his brother had been. It wasn't as good as actually finding said missing little brother, but right now it was the best lead Dean could hope for.

Frustration constricted his power and he had to grit his teeth and force himself to the last place Sam's aura was strongest. Teleportation wasn't something he'd done often and he sure as hell wasn't very good at it with half his power damaged by the bronze blade. Maybe that was why he was _feeling_ absolutely everything; his angelic grace was powering up this little insta-trip. He never saw the white-eyed demon step out of the shadows he'd been hiding in, a slow smile spreading across his sadistic face.

Zachariah appeared out of nowhere, a dopey grin stretching from ear to ear, "Stupid grunt. He took the bait; hook, line and sinker."

Alistair nodded, "They always do."

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined. And know that I see them and appreciate your time.**

 **Author's Note:** _What a crappy way to leave a chapter, yeah I know…however I will not leave you all in suspense for long, promise._


	22. Flying Lessons

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 22**

 _Flying Lessons_

Flying wasn't nearly as interesting as Sam had believed it would be as a kid. It was scary as hell and he _hated_ it. As a kid he'd been fascinated with the idea of being free of the limitations of two legs. Maybe it has something to do with the way he was raised, very restricted in his activities, he didn't really know.

His arms pin-wheeled dangerously and he flipped ass over teakettle through the stuffy winds he found his opinion changing. The rocks that had initially been so far away were growing bigger at an exponential rate. A bird squawked its displeasure when he dropped past where it had been making lazy circles in the sky.

Gasping, Sam started to hyperventilate as waited to slam into those death-dealing jagged rocks. Unhappiness coursed through him when he realized that he desperately wanted to scream out an apology to his brother, but his voice was torn away by his descent.

And then, out of nowhere, Sam found himself hovering just above the plateau of the tower. Gravity pulled him down and his knees buckled when his body slammed into the unforgiving stone. Heaving in great breaths of the oxygen his body craved he flipped onto his back, staring into the distant sky.

A fluffy cloud passed overhead, _it looks like Dumbo,_ he thought absently, peering through the fringes of his hair.

The long strands had draped across his wide eyes, slowly he forced himself up onto his butt, shoving the damp hair back from his sweaty forehead. He turned angry blue-green eyes that spat fire and promised _death_ at the two "dickhead" angels.

"What the fuck was that?!" He asked, grinding the words past the all-consuming rage and fear that warred inside him.

Gabriel shrugged, indifference pouring off him. "That's called training my boy."

Sam found his strength and surged up to his full height of 6'4", "No. You tried to kill me you little bastard." Sam was seething, if he died who would save Dean? By the combined looks on their stupid _angelic_ faces it wouldn't be either of them. Of course, he might be basing some of that on the fact that they'd purposely dropped him off a cliff, but really, who was keeping track of such _trivial_ things.

"Now that's not a very nice thing to say about the guys that are trying to help you." The archangel manifested a snickers bar and tore into the packaging. "You need to concentrate more." He continued around chunks of chocolate. "And you should be a bit more _grateful._ "

"What? You can't-, I can't-. Whatever." Sam blew out a pent up breath, "I don't know what you want from me." He had no idea what these two expected him to do. Sam was fully aware his concentration was way off; he couldn't stop thinking about Dean and what he could be going through.

Golden eyes flashed toward Castiel, "We know you don't, Sam. This isn't something that'll get you an 'A' on the first test, but you'll ace the final exam."

Castiel nodded, "This is a pathway that your mind will recognize once you establish the right connections." It was the first time that the taller angel had spoken, unfolding his arms he stepped forward. "It would be easier to _show_ you with Dean's help, but…" Castiel drifted into silence for a moment before continuing. "His mind already understands how to access the power because of his demon and angel sides. A meld between you would've shown you this easier than finding it yourself."

His words penetrated Sam's head and he narrowed his eyes with rising frustration. The mere idea of becoming something less than human terrified him, but if it was the only way to keep others from controlling him? He supposed it was worth it. And then there was _Dean…_ Sam couldn't help him the way he was right now, he'd have to bring his own brand of _power_ to the coming fight. He inhaled, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as he thought.

Finally, "Can we try again?" he asked.

XXXX

 _Whistling Metallica's Unforgiven, Dean grabbed two bags of burgers and the waiting sodas from the Impala. Carefully he shoved the driver's side door closed with his hip. He took a deep breath, it was a pleasant evening, somewhat cool for Arizona and he was grateful. The overwhelming heat had taken a toll on he and Sam. They'd been confined to the motel room for most of their evenings. The only exception had been when his little brother had school activities._

 _Dean was seventeen and he couldn't wait to get to eighteen; hell even Sammy was keen on him reaching the big one-eight. It meant that they wouldn't have to worry about CPS anymore; being a kid under the legal age with an absent parent brought a lot of questions that Dean was tired of trying to answer._

 _But that a problem for a different day,_ today _had been a really good day; Dean smiled and thought of the phone number on the receipt in his pocket. She'd been cute, blonde and interested; all of the things Dean loved. He'd made arrangements to catch up with her later since he needed to get dinner to Sam before he headed to bed._

 _It was a school night after all. He chuckled at his own bad joke. While a GED had been more than good enough for him, Sam had always been too damn smart to settle for that. Dean was sure that Sam would graduate with full honors. In fact, he'd be shocked if his little brother didn't snag himself a full-ride to one scholarship to one those fancy schools that had things like, rowing teams and libraries named after ex-presidents._

 _While he'd never told Sam this, Dean was so freaking proud of him that he couldn't see straight._

 _Taking a deep breath he looked back toward town. The lights twinkled off in the distance and the small critters of the night had started chirping their evening tunes. He looked toward the motel room, blinking in surprise when he didn't see any lights on. It was after eight, Sam should've been home long before now._

 _A small tingle of concern wrapped around Dean as he hurried toward the door. Dropping the food, he pulled the key from beneath mat before grabbing for the door handle. He groaned when it opened easily. Dean had already pulled his colt-1911 from his waistband before he'd even broken the threshold, "Sam?"_

 _At first he called softly, it was possible that his brother had just fallen asleep. And waking up a sleeping Sammy was like taking one's life in one's own hands. Not a good plan. Slipping through the darkness, Dean's dread intensified as no sounds caught his attention. Cautiously he pushed open the door to their shared room, when he didn't see anything out of order, Dean flipped on the lights. The fact that appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary was out of the ordinary._

 _Both beds were made, courtesy of growing up with their father neither of them left without making their bed. Dean swallowed the thick lump in his throat, making his way to Sam's bed he frowned when he didn't see his brother's duffel bag. Dropping to his knees, Dean peered under the bed for their weapons cache; it was right where they'd left it minus Sam's own silver 1911._

 _Snapping to his feet Dean fumbled inside his leather jacket, pulling Sam's school schedule out; just in case he'd missed something. But no dice, he hadn't missed anything; Sammy was just_ gone _._

 _Holding his breath Dean turned back to the open doorway, he peered into the darkness hoping that Sam had just gone out for a bit. Maybe he was just overreacting? Sam would give him a rash of shit if that were true, but something inside him fought against that thought. His brother was just gone._

 _A sliver of an idea wound through his distraught mind, 'what if Sam left on his own'? No, Sammy wouldn't do that to me, to us. He knows how much we need him. Doesn't he?_

 _-7 hours later_

 _Dean was frantic. He'd driven everywhere Sam might've gone and he'd found nothing. Sammy had just disappeared. Maybe if he hadn't known what 'went bump in the night' that thought wouldn't terrify him like it did. People disappeared with no trace all the time; that was why hunters went after the monsters that roamed the streets._

 _A knot of fear constricted his lungs and he had a hard time breathing as all the things that could have torn Sammy apart ran through his head, each one more gruesome than the next._

 _Contrary to his little brother's beliefs, Dean had an extremely vivid imagination and near perfect recall of events. Hell, he still saw his father's terrified face the night he'd carefully handed Sam over and told Dean to run and 'don't look back'. That had been the first and only order from his father that Dean hadn't followed. Yes he'd taken Sammy and run, but he had made the mistake of looking back for his mom and dad. Through the open doorway of Sammy's room Dean had seen his beautiful mother pinned above his brother's crib in the nursery, the flames licking along her immobilized body._

 _The fire had blackened her flesh and the silky soft hair he'd loved to run his fingers through had been singed away leaving nothing but burning flesh. He'd never told his father what he'd seen inside that room and he never would, but if he lost Sam now? Then it had all been for nothing._

 _It was hard for him to believe that he'd been excited when their father had gotten a case in Flagstaff. Dean had never been there and he was keeping track of all the states they worked cases in, so this added a new one to his ever-growing list. But as the minutes stretched into hours and the hours stretched into days Dean found himself wishing they'd never come to this damn place._

 _Dean grabbed at the bottle of whiskey. It swam in his vision as he tipped it against his chapped lips, waiting for the liquor to burn away his awareness. Sam had been missing for seven days. One week of pure unadulterated hell. He'd fielded multiple phone calls from his father and two from Bobby. He'd very nearly broken down when his father's old friend had check in. For reasons unknown Dean had always had a closer relationship with Bobby than either Sam or their dad._

 _It had been the fear of disappointment that had stopped him from coming clean to Bobby. Dean didn't want to confirm what he knew everyone else thought about him, that he was a screw up and destined to let down those he loves. And yet when his bloodshot green eyes whirled around the dark motel room he was sitting in, the damning evidence of that failure everywhere, he hated this silent, dark, brotherless room. It was the personification of every nightmare he'd been terrified of since that fist night._

 _Taking another large swig his head spun, he was so far gone that he missed the sounds of someone opening the door. The lights flared to life pulling Dean's gaze up. There in the doorway stood his father, wide-eyed shock pouring off him. John had his customary bag slung over his shoulder, his posture one of expectation. A quick assessment took in his eldest son's current state and he dropped the bag to the floor before rushing forward and hauling Dean to his feet._

 _He'd done this for too long not to know that something was really fucking wrong._

 _Bile swam just at the base of Dean's throat as his head spun and his legs refused to lock. He'd dropped the bottle of whiskey in surprise. His father's gaze flickered to the empty bottle now spinning at their feet before lifting eyes so filled with disappointment that they nearly crushed Dean under the weight._

 _John didn't say anything; he half dragged half carried Dean into the small bathroom and threw him into the shower. Without a word he cranked on the cold water, when Dean spluttered and tried to climb out his father blocked his path. Looking up at the fury in his father's eyes was all it took to clip any strings that had been holding Dean upright. He collapsed on the floor of the shower, freezing cold water battering his blonde hair against his skull. Drawing his knees against his chest he wrapped his arms around them and waited for his father to tell him when it was okay to come out._

 _Time lost all meaning as sobriety shredded Dean's carefully constructed world of self-loathing. His father didn't move, he just stood there, watching with silent rage as he waited for his son to regain his 'god-damned brain', because John needed to know what the hell had happened. Where was Sammy? Why did Dean look like he'd lost all will to live?_

 _The destroyed boy in front of him didn't bode well and John knew it. It was only after Dean started to shiver, his teeth chattering with the cold, that John finally asked. "Where's Sam?"_

 _Lifting distraught eyes, Dean shook his head as he attention drifted._

 _John squatted down next to Dean and slapped him, hard. "Dean! I need you to pay attention. Where the hell is your brother?"_

" _I don't know." He admitted hoarsely, the emotion stealing his voice._

 _His father ground his teeth together. "When was the last time you saw him? And why aren't you out looking for him? Jesus Dean, I thought I taught you better than that. I thought I could trust you with Sammy."_

 _Every word cut deeper and deeper into Dean's confidence. At his core he was nothing without his family, he knew that all of his worth was derived from his ability to keep them safe, to protect them. But he hadn't done that; he'd lost his little brother. The one job he'd been given and he couldn't even do that right._

" _I did look." He whispered._

 _Dean watched as his father snorted and stood up before twisting the water off. "Get up Dean. God-dammit boy, one job. I left you one job to do so I could track down this poltergeist." He turned away and stomped out of the room. "I can't trust you, Dean. And I can't hunt with you if I can't trust you." He shot the last comment over his shoulder before slamming the front door of motel behind him, leaving Dean in the empty silence._

 _The deep rumble of his father's pickup truck penetrated every single cell of Dean's body; driving his disgust in himself so deep he would never be free of it._

 _-Two weeks after Sam went missing-_

 _Dean ignored the plate of fries, his eyes sneaking quick frequent glances at his father. John had finally noticed that his oldest boy had lost significant weight, his skin sallow and unhealthy looking. It had been all Dean could do just to take the required showers; he just didn't give a damn about anything._

 _It had been two weeks and between him and his father they'd exhausted every lead and they'd never come close to finding Sam._

 _He hadn't drank after that first night, the night his father found him snockered in their room, but that didn't mean that John hadn't emptied a few bottles. The deep purple bruise extending from Dean's jaw into his hairline was a testament to how badly John was taking Sam's loss. He wasn't fairing any better than Dean was. So neither of them was expecting it when Sam sauntered through the door of their cheap ass motel room whistling happily, his face alight with pleasure._

 _At least until his eyes landed on Dean's broken look._

 _His older brother was unkempt; his eyes so bloodshot that when the red mixed with the intense green they looked like a Christmas wreath with holly berries. Dean had lost weight, a lot of weight, at least fifteen pounds._

 _Sam swallowed, trying to think of what to say. He wasn't prepared when Dean lifted himself off the small metal chair at the table and stumbled toward him. Sam couldn't believe it when his brother didn't yell or scream. He didn't berate Sam for making a childish decision and running away. All Dean did was wrap his arms around his baby brother and gather him into a hug that made Sam feel ashamed of what he'd done. His older brother had obviously suffered because of him…and he hated himself for it._

 _Their father grabbed Sam out of Dean's arms and hugged him so tight he thought he'd heard a rib crack. But Sam's eyes never left Dean, he'd sank back into the chair, his shoulders slumped forward with something Sam had never seen his brother do, surrender._

XXXX

The inside of Dean's head felt like it was being shredded into tiny pieces then scattered into the ethos, and oh dear God did it hurt. He wasn't in any better condition physically and he was depleting himself to a dangerously low level trying to find Sam.

He was seriously vulnerable right now, if he was attacked when he got wherever Sam was, he wasn't likely to survive. _Can I die?_ He didn't have a clue if a demon-angel _thing_ could be killed, but he had to assume to that he _could_ be; anything else would definitely get him dusted.

Nothing about him seemed to work the way it should, the way the _lore_ said it should.

The injuries that Alistair and Michael had inflicted weren't healing, at all. _So yeah, that's a shitty deal._ The damage along his inside elbow had thickened developing a deep blue-black color with tendrils spidering out along his upper and lower arm. If he never saw another needle again it'd be too soon.

While he'd never been on fire before, _okay so he 'had' been lit up a few times while in hell,_ but never in the actual, real physical world, Dean imagined that it would probably feel something like this. It was taking all of his concentration just to stay on Sam's slowly fading trail.

Abruptly, it stopped and he prepared himself for the physical backlash that he knew was coming. Dropping out of the supernatural 'teleporting thing' back into reality was never easy for him; he assumed this wouldn't be any different. He pulled his mind in and weaved it back through his sinew and bone just before he materialized just above the ground.

Stumbling, Dean landed on his knees as his legs gave out, his upper body folding over like ragdoll as weakness overwhelmed him. The burning pain that ignited through his left knee nearly sent him into ever-beckoning darkness. He couldn't lose consciousness now; he could _feel_ that something was off. Sammy wasn't here but he _had_ been a few hours earlier. That and the small fact that Impala was parked casually in front of room sixteen.

He'd followed the fading colors of his brother's _essence_ to just outside some non-descript motel room somewhere in nowhere USA. Dean could feel his brother all over the place.

Inhaling he tried to force his body to obey and he nearly screamed in frustration when his knee simply wasn't able to function enough to get him upright. Slamming his fists into the gravel he ignored the sharp rocks that sliced through his flesh. Bright red splashes of blood dribbled onto the multi-colored stone.

Calling on what was left of his power, Dean teleported the last few feet that separated him from the room that lit up with all of Sam's colors. He landed in a heap on the floor; every single part of him was in agonizing pain and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to heal himself. _Man, I seriously got the short end of the power stick with this whole deal._

Willing his eyelids to part Dean looked up at the bed near the bathroom. Sam's bag was sitting on top of the perfectly made mattress. _Sam's here._

The keys to the Impala had been tossed into an ashtray on the nightstand between the two beds. _That_ sent a surge of irritation through Dean. Sam was supposed to take care of her, not toss around her parts like they were cheap ashes. But he couldn't get past the warmth that moved through him at such a simple thing as Sam's black bag. The slim feeling of comfort allowed his body to give up the fight to remain awake. He tipped forward, landing in a tangled, naked heap of blood and bone.

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined and you're feeling magnanimous today.**

 **Author's Note:** _And…another hanging chapter end. I know, but everything is coming to a head in the next few chapters and I wanted to get something up for you all. Thanks to everything that took time to review and let me know you're still following this one._


	23. Quiet Fury

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 23**

 _Quiet Fury_

When he finally managed to regain control over his wayward muscles they'd already started to twitch in painful bursts. Groaning, Dean rolled over onto his back, the hole in his side vehemently protested this movement and he groaned.

The smell of week old cigarettes invaded his nostrils causing him to curl his lip in distaste. Of all the bad habits he could've picked up during his mortal life that had been the one he'd staunchly avoided. But as he lay on the smelly carpet he wondered if there had been any point? The scratch of the cotton-type fibers in the carpet grated against his hypersensitive skin reminding Dean of how much damage he'd sustained since coming back.

His body ached and burned in ways it hadn't since he'd been strapped to the rack. Originally it had been his intention to get to Sammy and then…what? What exactly had his plan been? Save his brother from the plans of demons and archangels? Keep them from destroying the tiny spark of innocence still hiding inside Dean's sensitive little brother?

 _Well, hasn't this all gone to plan._ He thought sarcastically.

The plan sure as hell hadn't been to get captured by an archangel, tortured by Alistair and beaten into a bloody pulp by pretty much everyone else. For the first time since, well forever, Dean wanted to just surrender to the pain. Allow his mind to wander away from the frailty of his mortal body and let destiny take it's course. But thoughts of Sam, and what would happen to him if his older brother gave up, kept him clinging stubbornly to awareness.

Inhaling deeply, he prepared for the infinite pain he was about to inflict on himself. Dean carefully pushed up until he was semi-seated, the cheap carpet fibers digging into his legs and along the sensitive skin of his ass and hamstrings. He struggled to keep his mind from dropping into the awful memories of other times when those _areas_ had been stripped raw; he needed to remain clearheaded and alert. Thinking about what he'd been subjected to wouldn't erase the past and he couldn't afford the distraction. Besides no one needed memories like that, they served no purpose.

His gaze drifted down to his flayed knee and he cringed at the substantial damage. Alistair had sure fucked him over with that one. At least the bleeding had clotted, but it hadn't started to heal yet, _so yeah, not good_. With an internal sigh he decided that this injury might require some medical intervention to get the healing juices flowing. He continued assessing his current condition lifting his arm for inspection. The blistered, blackened skin along his wrists looked bloody awful, but it was the hard spidery veins crawling out from the knot of black on his inside left elbow that concerned him. It felt like acid was being pumped through his veins and it was taking most of his concentration bury the pain to a manageable level.

Dean didn't know what the silver and holy water mixture would ultimately do to him; but judging by his arm and knee, he had to assume it wasn't good. Biting his lower lip Dean carefully levered himself up on one leg and reached behind himself. His searching fingers ghosted along the edge of the motel bed before he sank cautiously onto the bedspread. There was probably a joke in there somewhere about leaving sweaty ass prints on his Sam's assigned sleeping space.

His lips quirked at that thought; he was also reminded that he was still very much borrowing the "Emperor's new cloths" and he should probably find something to wear. Neither he nor Sam would appreciate that kind of view.

Dean glanced around for his duffle bag and was gratified to see it lying neatly on the other bed. Part of him was touched and part of him was annoyed, and he wasn't sure why.

Flipping onto his back and stretching out his right arm he ground his teeth together when his fingers barely brushed against the canvas loops of the bag. "Son of a—" He shimmied back about 5 inches ignoring his body's complaints as he did. Satisfaction rolled through him when the material slipped along his fingertips; with great effort he pulled the awkward bag toward him. Sweat rolled down his temples and disappeared into the ugly peach-colored bedspread.

Slowly he managed to sit upright, with far more effort than he'd like, he dug into his power reserves and gathered the small ribbons of green. His eyes burned as he carefully wove the small tendrils of power around his major injuries. While it wouldn't really heal the damage, it would keep him from getting any worse. Dean couldn't afford to be completely off his game, he was already vulnerable as hell and that wasn't acceptable. So he did the best with what he had and literally used the supernatural to _stitch_ his body together enough to function, at least for now.

After several minutes of nothing but expletives running through his head, Dean managed to get his busted up leg into a pair of sweatpants. As much as he hated the jersey-type material, there wasn't a snowballs chance in hell that he was getting into a pair of jeans. Not in his current condition anyway, so he settled for the loose athletic pants. Pulling a black t-shirt over his head wasn't much better since his left arm didn't want to function at all, and the wound in his side was inflamed and aching all the way to his toes.

Carefully he settled himself against the headboard of the bed before rifling through the bag. His fingers closed around an old leather book and he pulled it free. Judging by the sigil on the cover it was one of Bobby's. As he flipped through the pages Dean was surprised to see that was written in Enochian and Sanskrit; not your everyday novelistic language. He'd barely started to read the first chapter when Sam's cell phone rang.

Dean glanced around until he saw the small silver device sitting, almost hidden, behind the ashtray with the keys. The offensive little machine kept ringing; Dean tried to ignore it, no go. With a sigh he grabbed the phone and snapped it open, waiting until the caller spoke first.

"Hello?"

A small gasp slipped past his lips as he recognized Bobby's gruff voice on the other end. "Dean? That you boy?" It should have sent a warm feeling through him, but instead it just surprised him.

Setting the book aside he gripped the phone better. "No, this is a life model decoy. Of course it's me." He glanced at the wall clock and pressed his lips together in irritation when he realized he'd been in the room for several hours now and Sam still hadn't walked his Sasquatch ass through the door.

There was a long pause and Dean was starting to regret his snarky answer when Bobby asked, "But Sam said you'd—" The old hunter trailed off and Dean heard the thick knot of emotions suppress his voice. He could imagine the thoughts running through the hunter's head. _What is your return gonna cost us? Cost Sam?_ And Dean didn't have an answer for that. "I thought that the angel's got'cha?"

Dean scrubbed his right hand down his face, "No, well yes—but now I'm back." When Bobby didn't say anything he asked, "You heard from Sammy?"

The old hunter hissed over the phone, "Not really. I talked to him on the phone, he asked me to meet up with him when I got to town."

"And are you? Going to meet up with him?"

The old hunter snorted. "Course I am." Bobby sounded offended that Dean would even question that. "Idgit." He added.

Something flickered inside him and Dean nodded to the empty room. "You bringing any of those lore books?"

"Obviously."

Furrowing his eyebrows at the clipped answer, Dean took a breath before asking, "Any of those books include healing?"

"Why, you hurt? Sam hurt?"

"Sam? I sure as hell hope not." A sense of longing flowed through him like water and Dean wondered if he'd ever get this demon-angel _human_ thing down. "Me? A bit. Nothing I can't handle."

He swore he could hear Bobby's ears whistling like a boiling teapot. The emotions of the old man seemed to cascade along the line connecting them. The tiny phone creaked in protest as he clenched his fingers at the unexpected _feels_.

"You okay boy?" It was quiet, not the type of voice Bobby used with them often, only when he'd known they'd been hurting.

For a guy that claimed to be a hunting hermit, Robert Singer was uncannily aware of the people around him. _That's probably why he's still alive after so many years._

A wave of pain washed over him and he grit his teeth together to keep from giving voice to it. Dean was willing to share some things with Bobby; weakness wasn't one of them. "So—"

Whatever he'd about to say was interrupted by the sudden flutter of wings and a nearly overwhelming surge of power. The color drained from his face when he saw Sam draped between the two angels. He wasn't even supporting his own weight, the larger than normal feel dragged toes first over the floor. Panic lurched inside him even as the phone slipped from his numb fingers.

The sight of an unconscious Sam had Dean forcing his own pain into the deep recesses of his mind; he hefted himself from the bed and started toward his brother. "Sammy?" There was a desperate sort of denial in the way he uttered that one word.

TBC... **Please leave a review if you're so inclined and you're feeling magnanimous today.**

 **Author's Note:** _Enjoy, sorry for the shortness of this chapter. Will strive to get the next one up ASAP. Thanks to everyone that took the time to review, much appreciated._


	24. Without us, the world burns

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 24**

 _Without us, the World Burns_

He tried to take his little brother's weight, but the fucking knee refused to cooperate; irrational anger boiled inside him at the all too familiar sensations of weakness. Lifting his eyes, he saw the uncertainty in the eyes of the men watching them both. Unwillingly Dean allowed the angels to assume the weight and gently lay Sam on the bed before they quietly stepped away. He kept them in sight as they kept their silent vigil, he pressed his fingers against Sam's neck hoping for a steady beat. Dean let his right hand drift over Sam's sweaty flesh, searching for the lifeblood that kept his brother among the living. His dark gaze slid sideways sending an angry glare their way. Relief poured through him at the steady _thump thump thump,_ it was the only thing that saved these two _celestial beings_ from being eviscerated. Or having their wings torn off, whichever hurt worse.

His eyes dilated when he caught sight of the large bruise stretching across the left half of Sam's face. It angled all the way down from his temple to his jawline. Dean's multi-hued eyes scanned for any additional injuries, but the bruise appeared to be the extent of it. Which was just as well, because he was barely holding it together as it was and if he thought for a second that these jackasses had hurt Sammy?

Well, let's just say he wouldn't be held responsible for the violence of his actions.

Grinding his teeth together Dean turned on Castiel teeth bared; it was almost animalistic. "What the hell happened to my brother?!" Vengeful, tightly controlled anger seethed just beneath the surface of his question.

The angel held up his hands in a plaintive gesture that just pissed Dean off even more. He was so tired of these sanctimonious _messengers_ of God playing Yahtzee with their lives.

With a sigh Castiel explained, "The bruise is from the incident where you were taken." Dean's eye twitched at the reminder and he hurried on. "We were unable to prevent that; but you already know that." Lifting concerned blue eyes the angel continued, "Dean, I would never hurt Sam." He had no clue if the older Winchester actually believed him, but he truly hoped that he'd at least earned the chance at being believed. If he and Gabriel were unable to gain the hybrid's trust their plan would never succeed, and it _had_ to succeed.

Dean's skeptical eyes shifted toward the other one. "What about you?" Despite his smaller stature, power rolled off the man in waves that almost shimmered in the air surrounding him. He wondered what this guy had been before the archangel had got 'all up in' his ass? Lawyer? Politician? He suspected it was the latter.

Arching a blonde eyebrow the archangel smiled indulgently. "Oh, I have a vested interest in your little brother's survival."

The answer was smug and it fanned the older Winchester's anger into a raging blaze. "What the hell does that mean?" This guy needed to start making some sense or Dean was going to pop him in the eye, with two fingers. Turning toward Sam's unmoving body, he swayed when his muscles protested the unwanted movement.

Castiel sighed at the determination he saw there. "Dean—"

He wanted to ask if the hybrid was okay, but one thing he'd learned enough about the Winchesters was his question wouldn't be appreciated.

"I'll heal." Dean interrupted flatly, the inhuman black-green of his eyes made looked somewhat eerie in the limited light of the cheap motel room.

Gabriel coughed, "No, you won't. But I think you already know that." Shaking his head in uncharacteristic sympathy. "Not without help." These little _mortals_ were starting to get to him, pushing his normal indifferent nature, and he wasn't sure he liked that.

Dean peered through the fringe of his blonde eyelashes. The strength he'd gathered when he'd first seen Sam's limp body drained away into nothing. His knees failed first. With gasp of pain, Dean found his cheek resting against the scratchy bedspread, his hands splayed wide from trying to catch his descent. Grimacing as his muscles twitched, he decided his only consolation was, he and pain were old friends; he'd learned long ago to live with the things he couldn't change.

Swallowing the groan working up through his chest, Dean lifted hollow eyes to the angels. "Bobby's on his way."

Castiel frowned but wisely said nothing.

"Ah, dad's old hunting _buddy_." Gabriel's grin widened. "He should be able to help you." His tawny eyes darted over to where Sam breathed in light wheezy pants, they were almost imperceptible, almost.

"My brother?" Dean demanded an answer to the question they'd avoided earlier. Despite his current prone position, he exuded a barely controlled violence that was truly scary to behold.

"Training." Gabriel answered with a shrug. Conjuring a box of redvine licorice rope, he ripped off the end of it and chewed, loudly, and with his mouth open. It was fucking disgusting.

Blinking several times, Dean forced his eyes to focus, "You can't train him." He said as the knives of fiery pain dug along his sides and into his stomach. _Son of a bitch!_

The smaller angel took a step forward, all former _friendliness_ vanishing as anger slipped from behind his carefully constructed mask of indifference. "Listen you little piss ant, I am an archangel and I can train anyone and anything." Tilting his head to the side he watched Dean pull in a shuddering breath, the green in his strange eyes shifting to nearly black. "So don't think you or your little _baby_ bro are—"

" _You're_ one of those _archangel_ dicks, so you already know what I can do." Lifting his dark gaze he pinned the archangel with a look that promised pain and eventual death. "You really wanna start this?"

"Not particularly." Gabriel snorted.

Narrowing his eyes, "Then I'd be damn careful what I said about Sam…if I were you." he added the last part, almost like an afterthought.

Dean's eyes unfocused slightly as he wondered if he was gonna spew his liver all over the pasty green coverlet. He sure as hell hoped not. Biting back the rebellion in his stomach, his thoughts slipped away to the past.

" _Dean, it wasn't that bad, honest." Sam's voice hitched, he hoped it didn't show. A muscle jumped in his brother's jaw and Sam knew he wasn't that lucky._

 _Rain pounded against the roof of the Impala. A loud crack of thunder boomed somewhere in the distance as lightening sparked across the skyline in brilliant spiderwebs of color. It was just as well; the violence raging around them mirrored the fury bottled inside Dean. He'd been late picking up his brother and in the twenty minutes between getting out of school and the time Dean pulled up to the curb, Sam had gotten the shit pounded out of him. By no less than five kids._

 _He couldn't help but wonder why Sam had allowed the school boys to get him cornered in the first place. That was one of the cardinal rules of engagement; as least as far as their father was concerned, don't get caught out alone, ever._

 _Cunning green eyes slid sideways, but Dean didn't say anything, how could he? The battered face staring back at him held no blame, no malice and it cut through him like a hot knife._

 _Sam tried to smile, it came out as more of a grimace complete with poorly hidden groan. "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He was making excuses and they both knew it, but how could he let Dean take this one? Sam was good at hand to hand; he wasn't nearly as good as Dean. Sam hadn't seen the two guys that jumped out from behind the bleachers. Whenever his big brother sparred with him, he was ready for the assault. That hadn't been the case this time and that was_ his _failure, not Dean's._

 _It had all started because of a stupid project in Literature class. The teacher had given them an assignment and Sam had taken it a little too seriously. That hadn't gone well and the captain of the baseball team had been pissed about it. Probably had something to do with the fact that his girlfriend had taken Sam's side in the debate._

 _His next words caused his Dean to grip the steering wheel until his knuckles went white and the plastic creaked in protest. "Just let it go Dean."_

 _But it was the silence inside the car that informed Sam of just how badly his older brother was taking this. Dean had no problem being the one to blacken Sam's eye, but he sure as hell wasn't going to allow anyone else to do it._

 _Winchesters just weren't built that way._

 _By the time they'd reached the motel, Sam had given up trying to get his brother to talk. So instead he stared out at the torrential rain as it had puddled along the rural highway. They'd pulled into the lot, as far from the door as possible. Or so it seemed to Sam, he trudged through the mud and wiped at the water running along his hairline._

 _Dean cast a thinly veiled, but worried glance back at him before he shoved the door open and stepped out of the way allowing his brother to enter first. The lights were on and it was obvious that the older Winchester hadn't planned on being gone long. A small television played old music videos; the sound was turned down low. Sam was pretty sure it was so no one could sneak up without Dean hearing them._

 _The stale smell of old cigarettes and regret hung heavy in the air around them. It always did in places like this. 'I know how the regret part feels.'_

 _Dean tossed his keys onto the small kitchen table and then went to the freezer pulling something out. Turning back he held out the plastic bag to his little brother without saying a word. He clicked the lock on the door and set the salt lines in a silent fugue state that worried Sam._

 _Sighing, he held a bag of frozen peas to his left eye and glanced in the obscene gold mirror above the bed. The darkening purple of what was sure to be an epic bruise was already forming along his jawline. Trying to be stealthy, he watched his brother check and re-check the lines. From beneath the bag of the peas what he saw deepened his concerns. For all the things Dean was,_ silent _wasn't one of them and it was worrying him._

 _Finally deciding he'd had enough; Sam stood up and grabbed his bag and shower kit. "I'm gonna clean up." He waited for Dean to protest, to ask him if he was okay again. He didn't._

 _Dean watched as his little brother pushed the bathroom door shut. His insides twisted with guilt so deep he would never be fully free of it. It wouldn't matter what excuses Sam made up to absolve him of his 'perceived' failure tonight, he would never ever forgive himself._

 _Grabbing the keys, Dean started toward the door. The water turned on and he knew that he had about an hour before his brother would exit the small room again. Girly-boy that he was, Sam always took a long time cleaning up after a fight. Especially one that he got his ass kicked in. 'Fight.' Yeah right. Those asshats had waited and cornered him when he'd been walking out after school. They didn't even have the courtesy to give him some sort of warning they were coming._

 _Well, two could play that game._

 _One hour later…_

 _Dean closed his eyes. His right arm was wrapped around his ribcage and his head was currently exploding in pulsating bursts that threatened to steal his consciousness. The tickling sensation of blood running just behind his right ear told him that the kid with the bat had landed that second swing with some 'umph' behind it. That was going to make concentrating a tad more difficult and he'd need concentration if he wanted to walk out of this one._

 _All of this was his fault because he'd assumed, incorrectly as it turned out, that he was just dealing with some high school kids, Dean hadn't taken any of his gear with him. At least not beyond a pocketknife and 1911, but that had been torn away from him before he'd known what he was dealing with. He hadn't expected the star player on the baseball team to be a monster. And he sure as hell hadn't counted on the pack being in on Sam's attack._

 _So yeah, not a great ending to a really shitty night. He crawled forward, his right ankle dragging behind him in that awkward way that always meant 'broken'. Biting back a groan, he searched the shadows under the bleachers for his gun. The laughter of the boys sent both humiliation and a deep-seated anger rolling through him._

 _The baseball bat kid sauntered toward Dean; the bat raised threateningly, a sadistic grin plastered from ear to ear. "Thought you were all 'that', didn't you." It wasn't really a question, more a rhetorical comment._

 _Sudden racking pain exploded through his back. 'Shit, I must really be out of it.' Dean thought as his arms collapsed and his face dragged through the dirt and mud. He'd completely missed the kid's approach, which wasn't like him. At least not normally, but he'd been preoccupied with the fact that Sam had been jumped by these asshats and they'd landed the blow across the back of his skull._

 _The heel of a boot ground into his spine and he tried to arch away, but seriously, where was he gonna go? He was already lying chest down on the sticky earth, beneath the crappy wooden bleachers, in a no name town with a serious concussion and no backup. He was going to have to figure this out on his own, because there wasn't anyone coming to the rescue. Sam was side-lined and their dad…? Well, who the hell knew where his dad was; he sure didn't._

" _Touch me again and I_ will _kill you." He forced the words past the grit in his mouth; it probably wasn't that serious of threat considering his current position. But that just meant that these freaks didn't know whom they were messing with. Pooling the saliva he swished and spat as much out as he could._

" _Right, you're gonna kill me?" Baseball kid sneered. He slapped the bat into his open palm several times for emphasis before winding up and swing at Dean's unprotected ribs._

 _He knew he couldn't stop the bat from connecting, but he could try and minimize the damage. Summoning what little muscle control he had, Dean curled into a fetal position, ducking his head between his arms at the same time. He waited for the impact. It never came._

 _The grunts and groans of the pack were his only clue of what was happening above him. It was over in a matter of seconds. A hand slid along his back, not soft but not intent on hurting him either._

" _Dean?"_

 _Jesus…it was the one voice that he would've given anything_ not _to hear at the moment. Unfolding his battered and concussed body, Dean rolled over to face the concerned eyes of his father._

" _Dad?" A feeling that was somewhere between relief and dread pooled in his gut._

 _The night glimmered in and out of focus. Head pounding like a junkie at a rock concert, Dean splayed his palms beneath his torso and clamped down on the pain beneath pushing up to his knees. He felt more than saw his father drop to his knees in front of him._

" _You with me?" John Winchester wasn't a particularly 'touchy feely' person, but at the moment his large hands were roaming along his eldest son's extremities. He was obviously searching for broken or dislocated bones; that sent waves of broken pride cascading through Dean. He'd tried to be the strong one. The one Winchester that didn't require 'protection', that was Sammy's role in the family, not Deans._

 _As the older brother, his one and only job was to ensure his brother's survival. Anything beyond that was just gravy, as far as he was concerned. He struggled to keep his mind focused on his father's movements, but the jackhammer inside his skull was making that damn near impossible. He nearly blanched at the smell of his own blood as he rolled from his knees up to unsteady legs._

 _The trickle behind his ear had become a steady stream of dark red that slowly soaked into the collar of his flannel shirt. He swayed when the light-headedness nearly sent him into unconsciousness. His father's strong grip was the only thing that grounded him._

" _Where's Sammy?" The gruff tone was one that Dean was used to. It meant he'd scared the shit out of his father and that meant 'find out what happened to Sam'. Because the only reason Dean would be out alone was if something had pulled him from his brother's side. And that reason would've had to be a threat that couldn't be ignored._

 _Words flickered at the edges of his brain; they might be the right words? Ha! That was funny. 'I can't find the words.' He wasn't making any sense and he was just lucid enough to know it and too far gone to care. But Dean had no way of understanding the questions since he couldn't grasp the 'words' long enough to reorder them into some sort of coherent sentence._

 _He nearly blacked out when his father shook him, violently. "Dean! What the hell happened here?"_

" _Gunaacka…" That wasn't what he'd meant to say. Shit, this whole communicating thing was going to be a problem._

 _He jerked out of his father's hands his body exploding in pain and twisted to the side. Dean emptied his stomach into the muddy dirt. His head ignited in ratcheting pain that he was helpless to ignore. Especially when his vision grayed so badly he wasn't sure he was still awake. His entire world consisted of nothing but pain, fear and failure._

 _John watched as his elder son pitched forward landing in a motionless heap at his feet. "Son of a bitch." Concern trumped his anger at Dean's failure to follow protocol. Kneeling down he gathered his boy into his arms and gently carried him toward the old truck. Pressing his lips together in realization, he stopped and turned toward the Impala. With a sigh, John changed plans and headed toward the black car. Dean wouldn't forgive him if he left the car here in favor of his truck._

 _John had always loved that car, but it reminded him of what he'd lost,_ Mary _._

 _She'd been the one he'd bought the classic car to impress and she'd died pinned to the ceiling of their youngest son's nursery. Every time he sat on the soft seats, inhaled the earthy scent mixed with leather John was trampled by her memory._

 _Indescribable pain seared his heart and he had to take a minute in order to bury the hurt. His life was a direct result of that night. John's eyes dropped to his unconscious son and he shook his head, clearing the images of Dean's mother. 'Their' lives were a result of that night._

 _It would take several hours to clean up the site around the school. Five dead students would definitely call attention down on them. It's not like local law enforcement would believe him if he tried to explain they were really supernatural assholes that fed on the pain of others and had jumped both his sons._

 _He kept a close watch on Dean as he drove toward the motel he'd paid for a week ago. John had propped his hand so he could feel his son's chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm as he drove._

 _The motel was non-descript, they always were, and tucked in at the far edge of the small rural mountain town. The lights flickered inside the room and he inhaled deeply before killing the engine and moving to open the passenger side door. It didn't occur to him that he wouldn't be able to actually open the motel door until he was standing in front of it, his arms full of Dean's limp body._

 _He kicked the door with the toe of his boot and hope that Sam was still awake. 'Your brother isn't back yet kid. You_ better _be awake.' John thought with rising irritation._

 _Sam threw the door open, whatever snarky comment he'd been about to make died on his lips when he saw their father carrying the dead weight of his brother. "Oh God, Dean." He quickly stepped out of the way allowing John to step into the room and carefully deposit his burden on the bed nearest the door._

 _Turning back toward his youngest, John frowned at the dark bruising along Sam's jaw. "Is that why your brother was out alone?" He ran soft fingers over the damaged skin, his eyes narrowing in repressed anger._

" _Yeah." Sam's lips moved, but he couldn't decide how to continue._

 _John sighed. "He wait 'til you were in the shower?"_

 _Sam started at that. 'Jesus, I forget how well he knows Dean.' Gulping down his sudden guilt he nodded slowly._

" _He does that." Turning back toward Dean's unmoving form, running agitated fingers through slowly graying hair, he shook his head. "I keep tellin' him don't go out alone. Dammit, that's why you two train_ together _." He finished the thought almost like he'd forgotten Sam was standing there listening. "You gotta watch each others backs. Aint' no one else gonna do it."_

 _Sam clenched his teeth as the old anger at his father's constant nagging and rules surfaced. "Are you really blaming Dean for my getting hurt? Or are you just pissed that he managed to get himself hurt too?"_

 _John's eyes darkened with something that Sam didn't recognize. "Don't you think for one minute that you understand what's really out there Sam." He pointed at Dean. "Your brother_ knows _what prowls the night. It's his job to think before he acts. God knows you're not gonna do it."_

 _The last part sent a jarring pang of regret crashing through him when his gaze dropped to Dean's beaten and bloody face. "Is he okay?" Stepping forward, Sam tentatively touched the gash just behind his brother's right ear._

 _A towel wrapped around a bag of ice appeared near his hand. Lifting grateful eyes to his father, Sam gently laid the ice against the obvious swelling. Sinking down onto the bed, he decided to keep a silent vigil over his unconscious brother; it's what Dean would have done for him._

 _John watched as his youngest took over care and the quiet guarding over his sibling, despite the situation a sense of pride wound through him. He'd a lot of things wrong with these two boys. 'Mary's boys.' But one thing he'd done right? Sam and Dean needed each other and they knew it. Perhaps more than anyone else in their lives they depended on one another on an almost cellular level._

" _He will be. Concussion. Bruised ribs. Maybe some contusions to his back, but he will heal."_

 _The list of injuries was long and concerning. Sam's eyebrows drew together as he listened. This was kinda his fault. If he'd just stayed inside the school and waited…or if he hadn't pissed off Kenny Bulson in the first place, none of this would've happened. He sent a silent apology to his sleeping brother._

" _Sam I need to go clean up the site. Take care of your brother?"_

 _Like he really needed to ask that?! Of course Sam would watch out for his big bro. That's what they did, him and Dean. They kept a watchful eye on each other, mostly to keep the other brother from doing something monumentally stupid. Which they had each accused the other of over the years._

' _Like taking on a_ pack _without telling anyone.' He admonished Dean inside his head. But all he said out loud was a quick and steady, "I will sir."_

 _His father half smiled and nodded before grabbing the keys and hurrying out the door._

 _Sam's blue-green eyes dropped to Dean, his throat tightened involuntarily. Carefully he rolled his brother onto his side and worked to remove the grimy clothes sticking to Dean's skin. The blood had dried and caked in several places, but with some gentle pulling, he was able to get it free._

" _You didn't need to do this Dean." Talking to his unconscious brother kept him from focusing on the fact that they were both hurt and it was Sam's fault, again. He dragged his hands over the bruises littering his brother's torso. Sighing, he slowly stood and went to grab a washcloth and some warm water._

 _By the time he'd cleaned the majority of the blood and grime his eyes were burning and his head ached. Several small gashes along his brother's ribs and the deep laceration behind his ear required stitches. Carefully, he tied a running stitch into the head wound and placed a clean bandage._

 _Jesus, they had to quit putting themselves in the paths of things that wanted nothing more than to kill them._

It was a good thing he was already injured, because if he'd been at full strength, he would've killed the archangel for his next set of actions.

Gabriel's fingers wrapped around Dean's neck, his gold eyes flashing with anger. "I've done things you can't even imagine, boy." He pulled Dean's face closer. "Have a little respect." He whispered the warning as he held the hybrid immobile.

Dean struggled against the iron grasp of the smaller man. In his current condition the strength he generally had was sapped and they both knew it. Gabriel's gaze flickered to Castiel and he frowned when he saw the angel striding toward the bed. The dark haired angel's hand rested on the archangel in a calming gesture.

"Gabriel, he's been through enough and this _conflict_ is not helping Sam."

Dean felt the pressure release; he coughed as the air flowed back into his lungs. The burning in his throat kept him grounded against the pain moved through his body; it focused him in a way that both familiar and scary as shit.

The instantaneous shift in Gabriel's demeanor would have caused whiplash if Dean hadn't been expecting it. The angel was now grinning like the idiot Dean believed him to be, "Sorry, sometimes I just lost it. Lower blood sugar."

Flipping _archangel_ couldn't decide what brand of crazy he was. He was fairly certain there was already a new set of bruises forming on his neck. Turning, he glared at Castiel. "Can the other angels still track us?"

Cas stepped closer and before Dean could protest, he laid his palm against Dean's chest. It was far more contact than the elder Winchester was strictly comfortable with, but it's not like the freaky angel asked for permission first. Pain burst to life inside him. He felt like he was being turned inside out over and over. While he'd never actually been 'turned inside out', he'd been exposed to similar actions that would probably equal that.

Lost in his own pain and irritation, Dean wasn't quick enough to stop him from placing his other hand against Sam's sternum. That same jolt of pain must have been more than his brother's unconscious mind could handle, because Sam's eyes split open and he arched against the contact. A cry of surprised pain slipped past his clenched teeth.

Dean watched in fascination as the angel formed a _bridge_ between him and Sam. There was something important about this guy, he just wasn't sure what that was yet.

Cobalt blue eyes turned toward him and Castiel sighed. "They are not tracking _you_." His gaze dropped to Sam's wide-eyed confusion. "They can, however, track Sam."

"Sammy—" Dean started to sit up, his worried eyes never leaving his brother's guarded face. "You could have warned us." He bit out, the acid remark had obviously been directed at the man still standing between the brothers.

"Would a warning have made it hurt any less? Would it have changed the results?" It was a sincere answer that just pissed Dean off because it took him a moment before he had a snarky comeback.

"No, but it's more polite." He snorted his irritation and then shook his head.

The angel's dark eyebrows lifted as he was enlightened, "I'm sorry. I was unaware of that custom."

Gabriel rolled his eyes and finally found something worth adding to the conversation. "I gotta apologize for him brother. Pretty sure the angels dropped him on his head at some point."

Supremely irritated blue eyes flashed to him as Castiel tilted his head and ground his teeth together.

Sam's eyes flicked between the two angels and his brother. He swallowed and then groaned at the pain in his head. "Dean, you should go."

His brother's blonde head snapped around and the flash of rejection buried in his dark eyes sent guilt coursing through Sam. "What?" There was no way he could've heard that correctly, right?

Sighing, the younger Winchesters slowly levered himself up into a seated position. He leaned against the headboard when his head spun dangerously. "If we stay together we're gonna make it easy for them." Lifting pained eyes, he took a shallow breath and continued. "Dean, we're the keys to the damn Apocalypse. Don't you think we should be as far from each other as possible?"

The waves of resentment at the situation that was their lives nearly sucked Dean under. The emotions his brother was holding back were battering at Dean's control and he was near to losing it himself. Sam's face was blank, but his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces and his big brother knew it. Could feel it.

For the first time in a very long time Dean considered leaving. This wouldn't be like dying or when he and Sam fought over stupid shit. If he walked out that door he could never come back. He almost did it too. Almost acted on his instincts, but a sliver of hope wrapped in need pressed against his mind. If he hadn't glanced up at that exact moment he would've missed his little brother's silent plea for him to stay.

Ignoring the physical pain, Dean willed his muscles to respond; he shifted so he could move to the other bed. Sam didn't move away, but he didn't move closer either. He obviously had no clue what Dean intended to do and he was trying his best to control his own emotional fallout if it was bad.

The damage to his left arm prevented him from lifting it, but Dean was able to wrap his brother's taunt body in a hug with just his right side. Sam stiffened at first before relaxing into the brotherly hug and curling his long arms around his older brother. A shiver ran through them both as Dean's decision was silently communicated to Sam.

' _I'm not leaving little brother.'_

' _Thank God, I didn't really want you to.'_

Pulling reluctantly away, Sam stared at Dean's damaged body. A frown creased his forehead as he took in the shear volume of it. "How'd you get away?"

A tiny smile and his released breath alerted Sam he was ready to pull away now too. The connection between them faded somewhat as his arms fell away and Dean lifted swirling black-green eyes, "I didn't. I had help."

Sam frowned, "Who?"

"Death."

Castiel's body went ramrod stiff at that revelation. What the hell did she want? Billy never got involved, not like the old _Death_ had. She kept her hands and those of her reapers out of the affairs of men and angels. So what had changed? Why Dean? He looked over at Gabriel, who stared back, deep creases between his eyebrows, a clear indication of his surprise at the new piece on the Chessboard.

"What does that mean for us?" Sam asked softly.

Dean looked over at Castiel, then at Gabriel and finally back at Sam's expectant face. "I don't have fucking clue. But I know the whole world burns without us."

TBC…

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined and you're feeling especially magnanimous today.**

 **Author's Note:** _Not as fast a post as I would've liked, but life has been busy the last couple of weeks. Enjoy the newest chapter._


	25. The Darkness

**Synopsis** _ **:**_ _Sam Winchester buried his brother on a Saturday. Exactly two years later he returns to the grave and finds it recently excavated. The area surrounding it is blown apart like a bomb went off; the body is nowhere to be found._

 _Dean is offered two choices, say yes to Michael in heaven or say yes to Alistair in hell. What if, in true Dean Winchester fashion, he says yes to both? What happens when a human plays both sides of the celestial table? What can he become? And what if the soul returned to the body is one that is "out of time"?_

 **Legalities:** _Supernatural belongs to Kripke Enterprises and the CW. I am not making any money off this, I am simply playing in the brilliant sandbox that Kripke created when he thought of the Winchesters and their supernatural world._

 _ **NO SLASH**_ _. This is set in an off-shoot of canon and is ultimately based in an alternate universe._ _Brotherly moments only_ _. Rated-T for violence and mild-language. I will post updates on as quickly as I can, unless I get an enormous response in which case I may post earlier._

 **Chapter 25**

 _The Darkness_

Sam's eyes blew wide at Dean's revelation. _The whole world burns…?_ He couldn't accept that _future_ as a possibility, the world was in trouble sure, but on the verge of annihilation? He sure as hell hoped not. Although everything he and Dean had experienced over the past two years didn't support his, probably, misplaced hope.

Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, he looked over. The limited lighting in the motel room made seeing his brother clearly, difficult. Sam had told him to leave, to save himself and Dean had, as expected, refused. Which didn't surprise Sam, but sometimes he wished that they were capable of doing something selfish; like saving themselves, and yet had their position been reversed, he wouldn't have walked away either. He _couldn't_ have walked away. But what they were facing now was so far beyond the _ordinary_ monsters that they had fought since…well, since forever that it was staggering.

Hell, _death_ was stepping in now?! That was getting into the seriously cosmic arena, so how did he and Dean fit into this new world of angels, demons, gods, and _the devil_? Unexpected pain rattled through him causing his muscles to twitch involuntarily, Dean must have seen it because he was immediately staring at Sam with those weird eyes and a guarded expression.

Glancing up through the fringes of his eyelashes, Sam took a good hard look at Dean. He allowed his gaze to travel over his big brother's injuries and he was shocked to see the incredibly damaged state of Dean's body. There was a growing splotch of red on his side, which was never a good thing. And then there were the sweat pants. The mere fact that his brother was wearing them indicated something was seriously wrong with one of his legs. That was the only time his macho brother deigned to wear the 'Walmart' _designer clothing_. At least that's what Dean called it when he was trying to be funny, which was always. In Sam's opinion he was rarely successful.

Clenching his teeth, he shoved until he was resting on his elbows and then slowly threw his long legs over the edge of the bed. His head spun and pangs of regret nearly stole his breath as he continued to stare helplessly in Dean's direction.

The blank betrayed expression tore at him. "I'm sorry." He finally managed.

It was soft, but the subtle stiffening of Dean's shoulders alerted Sam of everything he needed to know. His brother had heard him. Both of the angels had the decency to pretend they hadn't overheard his apology. _That's awfully nice of you fellas._ He thought with a wince and no small amount of irritation.

Without turning to look at him, Dean asked, "What happened to you?" His voice was rough. Like on those nights he'd spent too much time at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. And yet there was still an honest sincerity that touched Sam.

"I could ask you the same thing." He deflected.

Dean's shoulders shrugged indifferently. "Master torturer of hell. General douchebag of an archangel. Death." He turned toward Sam. "Pretty much a normal day at the office."

Ignoring the spinning in his skull, the younger Winchester pushed himself up and transferred to the other bed. It put him within a few feet of his older brother and gave him unrestricted access to Dean's injuries. The trembling was never a good thing, and they both knew that something would need to be done about them soon. Sam's heart clenched at the sheer volume of damage. "Can't you heal…" He stuttered and waved a hand indicating Dean's damaged body. "This?"

His gaze shifted to the two silent angels, sorta, hiding in the kitchenette searching for an answer from anyone when Dean didn't move a muscle. Castiel pressed his lips together and then shook his head 'no'. Sam's eyes shifted to Gabriel, the question clear, but he asked anyway. "What about you? You're an archangel, doesn't that come with some perks?"

The older angel huffed and then shrugged. "Perks? Yes, but not when it comes to healing demons. No. I can't do that."

Sam growled his frustration low in his throat, and then reached for the discarded pillow. He dumped out of the actual pillow and then carefully began tearing the material into strips.

Dean's eyebrows lifted, "We're not getting the deposit back, are we." It wasn't a question.

Sam snorted. And started wrapping the case around Dean's damaged knee. The magnitude of the injury was frightening; he wasn't even sure how his older brother was conscious, let alone walking around. Glancing up he saw the skin stretch tightly over the bones of brother's face as Dean struggled to control the onslaught of pain.

"Sorry. Sorry." Sam apologized over and over as he pulled the makeshift bandage tighter.

A sharp knock on the door redirected their attention; a fact that Dean was grateful for when the tears dripped unrestrained down his cheeks. Because, well this shit fucking hurt!

Before they could decide whether or not to answer it, a muffled but familiar, grizzled voice told them who it was. "Hey you two idgits, open up." Bobby's request was quickly answered when Castiel unlocked the deadbolt and stepped aside.

The old hunter glared at the angel, "There's more bags in the truck. Think you two can handle that?" Obviously he was including Gabriel in the order. He pushed past the surprised angel and set a backpack down on the table. The rolled up end of something was sticking out the top.

"We will bring them in." The younger angel had already agreed before the other one could decline. Gabriel groaned and hauled himself to his feet and trudged after the retreating form of the dark-haired angel.

Under his breath, "Go fetch the bags. Stop your brothers from destroying the world. Don't eat all the pancakes and syrup." Mumbling grumpily, Gabriel glanced over his shoulder at the Winchesters. "I'm an archangel, this is not the shit I should be doing."

Bobby shook his head before turning toward the brothers, concern darkening his blue eyes. "You boys have looked better."

Dean grunted and shifted his weight so he could see the old hunter more clearly. The lines had deepened beneath his blue eyes and there was drawn quality to his skin that hadn't been there before Dean died. Guilt pounced on him and he quickly tried to redirect his thoughts. "Not lookin' so good yourself, old man." He shot back with a small smirk that reminded the old man of the boy's expressions when he'd been human. That thought sent a jolt of nostalgia racing through him.

Lifting an eyebrow, Sam wisely chose to remain silent but his lips did twitch in amusement at the exchange.

"Shut up. I look great." The response was out before Bobby even thought about it. Dean's eyes shot up at the easy familiar answer, he was looking for any sign of insincerity. When he didn't see anything, he relaxed again. Bobby's gaze dropped to the rapidly spreading crimson stain on his knee. It wasn't the worst injury he'd ever seen, but _damn._ But it sure as hell wasn't good. Bobby inhaled sharply at the shriveled blackened left arm.

He hated that _his boys_ were suffering and he was helpless to stop it. He moved toward the bed and stared down at the eldest Winchester. "Damn." Happened to be the only thing he could manage.

Dean pulled in a slow stilted breath and looked away from the emotions shining out of Bobby's eyes. The emotions weren't quite as strong as when they came from Sam, but it was as close as he'd felt to that. His multi-colored eyes dropped to the forgotten backpack at Bobby's feet.

"You goin' back to school?"

Bobby followed his eye line and the smirk faded. "Not hardly. Found this in some boxed up texts from a hunter buddy in England. Some old church was being demolished and he found a whole library of stuff he thought might come in handy." Shrugging, Bobby picked it up and set it on the table. "Found something the angels should see."

Almost like they'd seen summoned, the two angels kicked the door open, stepping through with the remaining books Bobby had sent them out for.

Gabriel shoved the door closed and glared his irritation at the three men watching them with wary expressions. "What? I got a booger on my face?"

Castiel let out a slow breath and shook his head at his brother's sad attempt at humor.

Ignoring them, Sam continued trying to care for the wounds that were still bleeding, sluggishly. Carefully he prized the dark t-shirt away from Dean's side before he hissed at what he saw. There was a large chunk of skin and muscle missing; the white bones of Dean's ribs would probably show if the area weren't covered in dark patches of fresh dried blood. "Dammit Dean." He whispered tightly.

His brother lifted pain-bright eyes and then quickly looked away. "Yeah, just like a day at the spa."

"If the spa was bent on picking a person apart piece by piece in order to _massage_ the muscles, from the _inside_." Sam's response was low, his expression blank of all emotions. But Dean could feel everything his brother was struggling to hide from him. Something he would have given his right arm for when they'd been younger. But now? He wasn't sure that he wanted this much insight into the inner workings of his little brother's mind.

Because right now, Sam Winchester was royally pissed. The rage boiled just beneath the calm exterior searching for any sort of outlet. His head had started thumping in time with his heart and his own body ached from his 'training' trip with the angels, but this wasn't about him anymore.

At least that's what he thought until Dean spoke again. "Cas, what happened to my brother?"

Surprise coursed through him at the question. Sam had assumed that Dean would only be concentrating on himself, _I should know better than that._ He wasn't sure why he ever would've assumed that before Dean had died. Maybe the time apart had repressed some of that knowledge?

Gabriel shrugged with indifference, "Training. I already told you that." There was nothing repentant in that angel's tone and it set Dean's teeth on edge. His eyes flickered around the room, landing on the pack. Something about it caught and held his attention for several moments before Dean questioned him again.

"What type of training?" he bit out.

Bobby stepped out from the older Winchester and narrowed his eyes at the blonde angel. He really wanted to know what the hell these two were talking about. But no one seemed inclined to let him in on the secret squirrel code they were all speaking in. A hiss from behind redirected his attention, and he grimaced at the pain etched into Sam's face.

Sudden pain ping-pong'd inside Sam's skull and his stomach clenched. His head was doing its level best to split apart. Biting his lower lip, Sam shoved it to the back of his mind. They had more binding to do on Dean. He hoped that it would actually help. This was new territory for all of them. He lost track of the time as he slowly and methodically sutured, cleaned and wrapped each injury.

By the time he glanced up again, the rising sun had painted a hazy glow of light around his brother's still form. The spikey blonde hair almost looked like a halo of light as Dean sat outlined against the coming day. The distinct contrast of shadow and light had Sam holding his breath in surprised concern. Not only was Dean injured but he was also casting off something almost feral and angelic at the same time. The black-green of his brother's eyes were always searching for immediate threats, his body always poised on the brink of battle. Sam shifted to alleviate the cramping in his back and noticed that the mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable. _Huh, wonder why I didn't notice that before?_ His brother had gone silent for so long that he'd started to think Dean was sleeping, apparently not.

"Sammy?" Dean's eyes lifted, barely meeting his brother's concerned gaze. "What did they do to you?" Apparently his brother wasn't going to forget his quest for information.

The two angels were sitting at the table, Gabriel was wearing a scowl and Castiel's expression was blank. Bobby pointed at something they had rolled out on the small metal piece of furniture that acted as everything from a desk to a breakfast nook.

Dean's gaze followed the shift in his brother's attention. He glared daggers at the two unrepentant angels. He redirected his question, "What did you do?"

Glancing up when the brother's attentions were suddenly on them, Castiel inhaled, _this should be fun._ He thought silently.

"We needed to _motivate_ him." Gabriel said easily, he leaned against table and folded his arms across his chest, defiance clear in every part of his posture.

Sam's eyes widened at the instant rage swirling chaotically from deep inside Dean.

A primal growl worked its way up and out of his chest; Dean lurched to his feet, his own pain completely forgotten. His intensions were very clear as he threw away the shaky barriers inside his mind and lashed out at the archangel. Gabriel's body was suddenly frozen in place as the muscles went rigid and pain sparked in his golden eyes. His reaction was overshadowed by the shocked gasp of the younger angel and the old hunter.

Castiel stared with rising concerned silence for several moments longer than he would have normally; not to mention another _person_ had never caught him off guard. Plus Dean shouldn't be able to attack the angels, particularly an archangel. But one look at his angelic brother's pained expression and Castiel knew that Dean was definitely _affecting_ him. Gabriel was going to be extremely pissed when he wriggled loose of Dean's power.

Sam could only watch for a few moments before he was trying to stop his brother from doing something monumentally stupid. Oh don't misunderstand, he was still pissed as hell at the angel's _training_ tactics, but he didn't want Dean hurt any worse. And frankly they just didn't know enough about the archangel to risk a possible change in allegiance.

"Dean, I don't like it, but I can handle it." He finally added to the increasingly tense atmosphere of the room.

His brother's wary eyes shifted in his direction, "No, Sammy. There's a better way." The barely restrained anger was so potent that he could nearly _feel_ it in the room. He took a breath and retracted his power. Dean wasn't expecting it to lash back at him like a boom-a-rang. It snapped around him and his body felt like it was being crushed under the weight of it. Several moments later, or years he wasn't sure, the pain lessoned and he could breathe again.

Gabriel watched the scene with a smug look on his face before he snorted, "No. There isn't." He'd seen the way Dean's power had rebounded on him, apparently there were still something the hybrid needed to be taught as well. As much as he wanted to crush the man's throat, he wanted to survive the coming war even more. His golden gaze flickered to the scroll and he pressed his lips together. "And you know it." His words were edged in anger and a great deal of aggravation.

Without looking up, Dean's tone dropped and evened out in a very bad way. "I'm gonna need you to shut up." His voice had a slight tremble to it, reflective of the internal battle he was fighting, it was clear to everyone that Dean was on the verge of losing his tenuous control. He finally glanced up and pinned the archangel with an accusatory glare. "Let me try. That was the plan, right?"

Bobby's eyes clashed from person to person, he didn't know what the scroll held, but he knew that it was the key to this whole shebang.

Castiel inhaled sharply and answered with a soft. "Okay."

With a mental sigh, the older Winchester made the easy decision of allowing Sam in. Because what he was about to do would pull down the barrier between himself and Sam, which meant that his brother would know _everything._ Not an easy ask for someone as closed off as he was. Pushing down the discomfort in his body, Dean slowly reached up and laid his bandaged hand on Sam's arm.

If he'd been at full power then he might have been able to do this without physical contact. But since when had things been easy for the Winchesters. Sam swallowed and gently pushed his brother back onto the bed. He'd seen the trembling in Dean's legs, and knowing the depth of the injuries, Sam was shocked that his brother had managed to stand up at all.

The blinding headache Sam had been fighting for most of the evening ceased to plague him the moment Dean's hands touched him.

The room spun dangerously as the elder Winchester buried his pain and tapped into fathomless depths of power within himself. Introspectively, the hybrid reached inside his own soul. He could see the distinct differences between the demonic and the angelic energies that weaved throughout every living thing. The power was everywhere and in everything. Dean was astonished at the sheer magnitude of power at his disposal. _At least it could be available, if I weren't hacked all to hell._

With a wince he felt the magnitudes of sympathy and fear that Sam was trying desperately to hide. The empathy part of this whole _thing_ kept channeling humanity back into him. But Sam's emotions were stronger than anyone else's and they affected Dean at an almost cellular level. He'd always thought that demons were supposed to be unmoved by emotions? Maybe that was a different demon package? Some sort of upgrade maybe? But not for him, every damn thing Dean felt was impacted by the emotions of those around him. _This sucks._ He thought in irritation.

The peaks and valleys of _Sam_ were stunningly complex. His baby brother was a combination of pure irrational emotion and cold clinical logic. The contradictions radiated along the horizon's of Sam's psyche. Dean observed the changing state of Sam's subconscious when he was struck by something and smashed into the steady calm oozing along below him.

Ignoring the flare of pain, he pushed himself up into a seated position. A hand appeared, as if by magic, in front of his face. Lifting jaded eyes, Dean was rocked back on heels by the _Sam_ that now stood above him. The white suit repelled everything around them, keeping a pristine, untouched presence that stole the words from Dean's lips.

Smirking _Sam_ held his hand out until Dean swatted it away. "What? Did you think I was only a dream? A vision of one _possible_ future?" Inhaling deeply he allowed his hand to drop to his side. The immense size of the man towering over him was more proof that of the two of them, Sam was the one built for battle.

"I am _part_ of Sam. I have always been connected to him in a way you can only dream of." Leaning down, _Sam_ drove his long powerful fingers into the damaged flesh of Dean's knee. A scream of pain was ripped from his lips as awareness flickered dangerously. "And now that I have you, here inside Sam's head. I can _show_ you exactly how your precious little Sammy feels about you."

His mind began to swirl and Dean began slipping deeper into the power. The diminishing feeling of Sam's physical body should have been a warning that he was going too deep.

"Dean?" Sam breathed hoarsely when Dean's eyes rolled up revealing nothing but the deep dark blackness that must be hiding inside him. A single tear leaked past the closed lids of his eye. Something had clearly gone wrong. Ignoring the concerned looks from the angels, Sam focused on trying to get his brother's attention.

"DEAN?!" He called again, panic woven through that one word and immediately alerting the others in the room that something had gone wrong.

TBC…

 **Author's Note:** _I realize it's been a couple weeks. Enjoy the new chapter._

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined and you're feeling especially magnanimous today.**


End file.
